


Quam evasit ex causatum insaniam

by spangelbanger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hallucinations, Human Castiel, Hurt Sam, M/M, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 60,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8096353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spangelbanger/pseuds/spangelbanger
Summary: Sam and a human Cas set after Sam is rescued from the crazy British lady.
Season 12 parallel fic.Sam is seriously damaged after Toni's torture. Sam and Cas are trying to make a relationship work dealing with the fallout of his torture, Cas becoming human, and Mary reappearing in their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note about the title, I was trying to think of something to call this fic, hubby suggested, "The fuzzy one that got away" I told him to figure out how to say that in Latin and I'd call my story it. That was "Quam qui evasit" as you can see that's not what this is, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure it out. The title is meaningless regardless of what it says. It's literally the result of me playing with Latin words.

Sam woke up a little after two in the morning to the sound of laughter. A soft tired sound from beside him. It was one of the few times that he'd waken up completely comfortable somewhere other than the passenger seat of the car, or an arms length away from Dean. There was no urgency in his waking.

A slow awareness that kind of crept in and he opened his eyes to see the blue-white flicker of his tv against the darkened walls of his bedroom.

Cas was sitting next to him on the bed. Taking up part of his space, but somehow Sam didn't feel crowded by his presence, it was comfortable. He was smiling at the tv, the low voices were muted to the point Sam couldn't really tell what he was even watching. But whatever it was he automatically knew he liked, just from the smile it put on his friends face.

He didn't say anything, didn't tell him that he was awake, just watched the play of expressions on his face. And let his mind wander.

It was nice to have someone next to him that he could trust, even if he thought that Cas could probably use some rest more than he could use the tv. He wasn't going to say anything. Cas glanced away from the tv and their eyes met. The smile broadened a little before falling away into a concerned look.

“Did I disturb you?” He asked.

“No,” Sam answered easily, he wasn't disturbed by Cas waking him, “I just woke up.”

There was a brief moment where his eyes went from Sam back to the TV and then it was paused, “I can turn it off,” he offered gently, “you need sleep.”

“could say the same to you,” Sam said.

“Angel's don't sleep,” Cas reminded him. Sam found himself smiling sadly, and pretended not to notice the way he looked exhausted.

Cas was stretched out on Sam's bed, leaning against his headboard, but it didn't feel like he was taking up the space, it felt like he belonged there, he didn't make Sam cringe away, it didn't feel like the air was frozen out of the room, or burning hot, there was none of the inhuman vibe that angel's always manged to give off with him. He was just a warm, solid, comforting presence.

The urge kind of came out of no where to reach out and make sure that Cas was really there. Sam's hand was half way across the space between them when he pulled it back, not sure how he'd even explain the urge to make sure he was really there, or if he even could.

Cas had seen the movement, he had to have seen it.

“Sam?” The word dripped with a question. One he didn't have the answer to. For the first time there was a kind of nervousness that prickled along his skin.

“Can I touch you?” he asked carefully. It was a stupid question, it wasn't like he'd never touched him, they'd shook hands, hugged, did a hundred casual grazes of their hands or skin against each other. But in the dark of his room it felt more intimate.

If he'd given in to the urge to close his eyes when he asked he might have missed the slight nod, the confusion that crossed his face chased away by a soft smile, “Of course.” Cas said. And made no move to stop him when Sam's hand closed the distance between them to land on the solid wall of his stomach. Cas was warm, and solid and there.

A few brief moments later Cas' hand covered his own. A gentle caress that ended not with him pulling away or telling Sam to stop, but wrapping his fingers around Sam's own and turning back on the movie.

Sam's eyes drifted closed he wasn't sure how long he lay with one hand resting on Cas' stomach the other tucked under his pillow, but sleep came back easily not long after to the low rumble of Cas' laugh.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple things. I wrote the first few chapters of this about a week before the first episode of Season 12 aired. So in my version, Mary cooks, at least more than she does in canon.  
> I also obviously didn't know the details of what happened in the second episode. I'm making adjustments where I can and not bothering where I can't.  
> also I have to thank Angel170, for help and encouragement with this story.

Six-thirty took forever to reach. Each dream was filled with the same old nightmares with new twists. When Sam's alarm went off he woke up with relief, but still tired. He stretched and let himself wake up more, enough to realize that his hand was still caught in the warmth of Cas'. He pulled it back sheepishly not actually wanting to break the contact, but there were things he had to do, the first being turn off the alarm. Cas slept through the sound, the tv played on quietly in the background and Sam found himself wondering how long ago Cas had fallen asleep. 

The floor was cold against his feet, the ache that went through him at moving almost made him want to crawl back in the bed and never get out of it. Instead he dug clean clothes out of the dresser and moved down the hall to take a shower. Everything hurt, he stood under the spray for a long time, letting it ease knots and pains out of his limbs that were still stiff from being in the same position for too long. He kept his weight on his uninjured leg. It was the ache that settled into him that pushed him out from under the water. He considered just going back to bed, but knew if he let himself give into the urge getting up tomorrow would be even harder. 

The need for coffee pushed him toward the kitchen. He expected to be alone, expected to have a few minutes of solitude before Dean woke up, with every thing that had happened for the briefest moment he'd forgotten about Mary's return. He saw her and for a fraction of a second all he could see was blond curls falling over her shoulders one of Dean's shirts that was so big it swallowed her. Sam couldn't breath again. He wanted to say something, wanted to close the distance, wanted to break down and cry. 

He was reaching for the coffee cup when he felt her watching him. He didn't turn around, couldn't meet her eyes. He was glad for the distraction. The splash of hot coffee on his hand told him that maybe he wasn't paying as much attention to what he was doing as he thought he was. 

"Sam?" She said his name softly. He drunk in the sound like he was starving for it. 

He turned around slowly, more careful not to splash himself a second time. He saw the mostly empty cup in front of her and asked, "would you like more?"

"No thank you," she said, but her hands were wrapped around the cup like it was a life line. She looked up from it to him, there were words in her eyes that weren't finding their way to her lips, and he felt the same way, there was so much that he wanted to say to her, but now that the chance presented itself he couldn't find the words.

He sipped the coffee and let it warm him. The kitchen fell silent. He didn't ask if she was okay, she didn't ask if he was either. They both already knew neither of them were. He needed to say something though, afraid that if the moment passed they'd never get it back. He was good at talking to people, good at figuring them out, but with her he was lost. Drowning in the things he didn't know how to say. Maybe she didn't know what to say to him either. 

Courage was never something he'd found himself lacking before, but alone with her, it was too much. He finally looked at her let himself drink in the person whose absence he'd felt his entire life. "Mom," he whispered trying out the taste of her name, it was bittersweet. 

"Don't," she flinched away from him.

He regretted saying anything instantly, when she looked up though he could see that she was crying. He felt his own eyes prickling with tears but he kept them at bay. 

"Yesterday, I was a mother, I made my oldest son a pie for dessert because it was his favorite, I washed the dishes, and the sheets, cleaned the house, picked up toys, I called my husband at work to ask if he payed the electric bill, I changed diapers, and I breastfed my baby and thought that it wouldn't be much longer before he was ready for solid food. Yesterday I had two little boys that I would have died to protect." her breath hitched, "and now, they're gone. I feel like they're dead. I know that it's not true, I know that you've lived your lives, and you grew up without me there, and I know that I missed everything, but I woke up and my babies are gone, and my husband is gone." Her breath trembled, the rest of her words were lost because she ended up crying instead of speaking. He moved without thinking about it pulling her into a hug, she buried her face in his shirt and cried, large gasping sobs shuddered through her and he held onto her, not able to offer anything to make it easier for her. At some point she pulled away, her eyes red rimmed and swollen. 

The next words out of her mouth caught him by surprise, “let me make you breakfast.”

“What?” He asked the change in subject catching him completely off guard, “You don't have to do that.” he said gently.

She nodded, “I need to do something or I'm going to lose my mind.”

His only response was a soft “okay”. If she wanted to cook for him he wanted to allow himself the selfish feeling of enjoying his mother cooking for him. For a moment it would be nice to see what it could have been like if he’d grown up with her in his life, preparing his meals and talking over breakfast. The life he could have had if it weren’t for demons and angels and destiny. The thought souring his mood further.

She moved through the kitchen with a purpose, looking through cabinets and running her hand through her hair while she searched for something. He watched her, and focused on the coffee dwindling in his cup. It should be better.

The world was safe, God was out there somewhere, Cas was human, but alive. Dean was alive. It should all be better, he should be happy, especially with his mother standing in their kitchen, safe from the outside world, putting together food for breakfast. Somehow it still felt like the world was ending and he was powerless to stop it.

He still felt like he should say something or at least offer to help. But he felt rooted to the spot. Pinned in place by not knowing what he should do or how to help. He was saved from the dilemma by Dean coming in, his robe hanging loose around him. He hadn't bothered getting dressed yet and his hair was going every direction, but he was smiling, and his eyes were crinkled with happiness. He walked straight to Mary and wrapped his arms around her hugging her for a long time. She patted his arm awkwardly, “How did you sleep?” She asked.

Dean shrugged, “better than I ever have.”

She smiled at him, the look was warm. Sam felt jealousy burning through him and couldn't say anything. While Dean poured his own coffee Sam left the room without saying anything retreating to the sanctuary of the library. Though in light of his personal introduction to the British men of letters chapter there, the archive had lost it's shine. For a moment he entertained with wild delight the thought of setting the books on fire. Of burning out any proof the men of letter's had ever been there.

He needed out, needed fresh air but his leg hurt from the bullet and the rough surgery that followed and his foot was already protesting carrying his weight.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked making him flinch back in surprise, he hadn't realized that he wasn't alone until he spoke.

“Yeah, I'm fine," Sam repeated his most well rehearsed lie.

If Cas didn't believe him he at least had the decency not to call him on it. There was a soft touch against his back, “I wish I could heal you.”

“It's not your fault. You did what you had to do.” Cas had given up the last bit of grace that he had so he could get through the angel warding. Had chosen to permanently become human so he could save Sam. If it was anyone's fault that Cas was human...Sam let the thought die away without finishing it.

He had to get out, had to get away from all the shit that was filling his head, making it hard for him to think, he couldn't deal with it. “I'm going for a walk, I need some fresh air,” he said.

“Your leg –“ 

“Won't fall off.” Sam interrupted before Cas could finish his warning, “Believe it or not, it's not the worst pain I've ever felt.” He forced a smile, that fell flat.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Cas asked.

Sam took a moment to consider whether or not he did. He wanted to be alone, he wanted time with his thoughts, to get it all together, but he didn't mind if Cas was there while he was thinking it over. Cas' presence was usually comforting rather than obtrusive. 

“You can come if you want,” Sam said at last and found himself hoping Cas would follow him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Cas followed, a step behind and silent. Like he knew that was exactly what Sam needed. Outside beyond to edge of the property the bunker was hidden in, there was a field, separated from the property by a ditch carved into the land. A stream of clear water gurgled through it making it look like a creak, almost like they could ignore that it wasn't nature that had put it there. 

Sam sat down painfully on the edge of the slope, the grass beneath him was brittle at the end of summer and broke under his weight rather than bending. It was still cool, the morning not yet hot enough to burn away the thin trail of mist that hung above the stream. Cas sat down next to him, silently waiting for Sam to take the lead. 

He didn't want to talk. At least he thought he didn't but the words came out anyways, “She's not my mother.” 

A hand touched his arm, “She's upset, it's a lot to take in, give her time.” 

“Time's not going to fix this.” He said, “It's okay. I don't need her to be.” It felt like he wasn't explaining very well, the things that she'd missed they were never going to get back, even if they found some common ground. 

The quiet stretched between them, and then Cas reached for his hand. It was comfortable rather than strange, a touch that could too easily grow to mean more. Sam felt guilty for even having the thought. He didn't want to make it weird, he didn't mean to make it weird. 

“I think you should give her a chance, and yourself one, before you write her off.” Cas said at last, “she cares about you, she's just having as much trouble reconciling herself to the fact you and Dean are grown.” 

Sam snorted, “except she doesn't seem to have any problems with Dean calling her Mom.” 

“She's had a little longer to get used to Dean.” he said, “you didn't see them at first.” Cas fingers ran over the back of his knuckles.

The knowledge sat strangely in him. Like it was something he couldn't quite wrap his mind around. He watched a dragon fly lift off the edge of the water and zip off into the pale morning sky. He thought about asking Cas if he missed flying, just to change the subject to something that would be as uncomfortable to Cas as this conversation was to him, but upsetting Cas wouldn't make him feel any better. 

Cas continued oblivious to the turn of Sam's thoughts, “she's still holding onto the idea of what you were to her. She loves you.”

“No,” Sam said gently, “she loves me now the way Dean loved me when I didn't have my soul. It's not the same and you know it” he pulled his hand away and stood up, Cas stayed where he was. Mary loved the memory of her son not the reality. The way that Dean had loved the memory of Sam when he'd been soulless, but hated the version of Sam that had been right in front of him. He couldn't help but believe Mary's disdain of him probably went as deep. He smiled, so Cas would know he was okay “I'm going to go for a walk, you should go back in, they're making breakfast. Dean will probably even let you put peanut butter on your pancakes if you ask nicely.” 

Cas nodded, “it is the second good thing to come from this.” 

Sam laughed at the seriousness of the tone, “what's the first?” 

“I didn't lose you.” Cas said sincerely, and it wiped Sam's smile away, “being human is hard, but not as hard as losing you would have been.” 

Sam watched him walk away and felt something stir faintly in the back of his mind. It was hard to imagine a better friend than Cas, hard to imagine anyone else, outside of his brother that he'd be comfortable enough to let stay in his room and follow him wherever he went, but it was also hard to trust him. It was hard to look at him and not see Lucifer. He knew Lucifer was killed by Amara, but couldn't find comfort in the thought. 

He pushed those thoughts back where they came from and let himself focus on the reality in front of him. The ache in his leg, and the way that even through his shoes the uneven ground sent pangs through his feet when he stepped wrong. The air smelled like fresh vegetation, and the call of birds filled the air. He was alive, he was okay, and the world wasn't ending anymore. 

He didn't walk far, he only made it a little ways up from the bunker before turning around. He wanted to run, wanted to feel the impact of the ground beneath his feet. There was no sign of Cas, or anyone else coming to get him, so he turned back, his feet found the road and he picked up speed. It hurt. It jarred him to the point he was sweating as much from pain as exertion. He forced himself to keep going. Each step, each movement made him feel almost dizzy with pain, but he kept going, until he had to stop when the coffee that he'd drank came back up more bitter than it'd gone down. 

He took a few steps toward the edge of the road and sank down on the ground, letting that pain wash over him and center him. He was okay, it didn't matter. He waited until he felt like he could move, but forced himself to move before someone would start looking for him. His leg shook under the strain with each step and he knew that he had pushed himself too far, but he felt better for it. He limped back to the bunker, he could hear Dean laughing from the kitchen, and found himself glad to hear that Dean was happy, and wishing that he could be happy with him, but it just wasn't in him to pretend.

He went back to the shower, it felt weird climbing back under the water for the second time, when his hair was still wet from the first shower, but he was covered the bitter smell of a pain induced sweat. He tried not to think about the feel of water running over his body. He watched the swirl of his blood down the drain. it was soothing in a way that was almost hypnotic. It wasn't like he was going to bleed to death, so he let it bleed. At least for a little while. 

He wasn't there long before there was a knock at the door. “Yeah?” He yelled, wincing at the way his voice shook. There wasn't an answer and he turned off the water, listening for some sound, but there was only silence beyond the door. Whoever it was had left. 

He didn't bother going back to the kitchen, or the library instead he made his way to his room. There was a stack of books that he'd been meaning to get around to reading, not work, or lore, just books that had caught his interest, but he hadn't had time to get into them. He grabbed the first one off the pile and sat on the edge of the bed. The cover was simplistic, blue and white and full of promise the way only an unread book can be. He almost didn't want to open it, to keep the promise in tact. The thought left as quickly as it came and he flipped open the cover to the first yellowing page. 

\----- 

Half way through the first chapter someone opened the door without knocking. He looked up to see his brother lean against the door frame and smile at him, “Nerd,” he said fondly, “first day off in years and I find you in bed with a book?”

“I like books.” Sam smiled at him, hoped he'd just turn around and walk away. That Dean would take his happiness somewhere else before Sam could sour it for him. 

“You didn't come eat,” Dean said. 

“Not hungry.” Sam replied. 

“Right.” Dean was searching his face for what he was thinking and Sam turned his eyes back to the book, letting the moment wash over him while he found the place he'd left off. He hoped Dean would get the message that he didn't want company. Instead of leaving though Dean came into the room. “You're bleeding again,” Dean pointed out offhandedly, “what did you do?” 

“Just went for a walk,” Sam smiled guilty, “I might have overestimated how much better it was, so I took a painkiller and I just can't stomach the idea of food right now.” The lie rolled off his tongue smoothly. It's path oiled by years of practice. 

“Mom cooked,” Dean smiled at him, like it was the greatest thing that had ever happened, “I'm sorry you missed it,” He was already moving away, “I'll get the first aid kit, but you still need to eat something even if it's not much, she's worried about you.”

Sam agreed, because there wasn't a good enough reason for him not to. Dean left only long enough to bring him the kit from the car when he came back into the room he was still smiling, like he couldn't keep it off his face. Sam was caught by surprise when Dean hugged him, “I still can't believe we got her back." though his voice wavered when he added, "I just wish Dad could be here too.” 

“Dean,” 

“I know” the smile flickered away, “just you know, if he'd known that we'd get her back someday... I think he would have liked to know that.” 

Sam didn't bother with the kit when Dean was gone, he just left it where it was. The book was closed in his lap and he couldn't find it in him to care that he lost his page, he'd find it later. 

The kitchen was deserted when he finally decided he needed something. It was a relief to have the space to himself finally. He opened the refrigerator and was surprised to see a plate on the middle shelf. He closed the door and went back to the coffee pot, it was empty and washed out, but he could fix that fast enough. 

It was brewing when he went back to the fridge and pulled the plate out. He took the slice of bacon off the side of it and upended the rest into the trash can. His stomach rebelled against the idea of eating, but a clean plate would at least get Dean off his back.

When he turned around Cas was standing behind him watching him. “Hi Cas,” Sam made a show of eating the piece of bacon he'd salvaged from the plate before asking, “where's Dean?” 

“Dean and Mary looking at photos in his room. He asked me to come find you.” 

“Well, you found me.” Sam smiled, “I'll be in there in a minute, promise. I'm just waiting on the coffee to get done.” 

Cas stayed in the kitchen, instead of returning without him. There wasn't any words between them, just the silent companionship that Sam really needed more than anything.

“Are you doing okay?” Sam asked not wanting to break the silence but needing to know. 

Cas shrugged and thought about it at last he smiled a little, “being human is exhausting,” he said without elaboration. 

Sam laughed genuinely at the way he looked upset by how tiring just living was. Cas smiled at him then looked toward the door, “I wanted to ask you about something.” He said his voice just above a whisper. 

“Okay?” Sam matched the tone, feeling a nervous certainty that whatever it was Cas didn't want to be overheard. He racked his mind for some idea what they could have possibly been talking about that Cas would feel the need to ask about secretly. He came up with a blanket fear that it was probably something to do with how out of touch he felt with his family. 

“Is there...” he stopped, and tried again, “are we...” the words didn't seem to be there and he closed his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed in frustrated, “Do you want to date me?” he blurted out. 

“What?” Sam was pretty sure that he had misheard. He had probably passed out somewhere, or was hallucinating again, because it didn't look like Cas was joking. “Are you serious?” he asked needing to know for sure before he said anything either way. It wasn't like it was something that he let himself think about. Cas meant too much for him to risk ruining their friendship, but if he was asking, then he had to know for sure that Cas meant it before he answered. Sam wanted to take back asking at the almost hurt look on his face. 

“I don't know,” Cas said, “Dean said something about me being your boyfriend. I wasn't sure how you felt after last night.” 

Sam looked down at the coffee pot to keep from showing he was apparently capable of more disappointment. It wasn't like he even wanted Cas to be serious. Except the part of him that secretly might have been okay with it under different circumstances.


	4. Chapter 4

There was too much noise in Sam's head. Cas had asked him if he wanted to date him, and somehow in a way that still didn't make sense he'd said he did, because some stupid part of him didn't know what self preservation was.

To his credit, Cas hadn't taken off running He'd smiled and said, “That's settled then.” and had walked off like the question had been answered, when to Sam's knowledge it hadn't been addressed.

He didn't know if it meant they were going to or not, but he was hopeful. It was always a slightly terrifying thing when he started to hope for things. It meant he had something to lose again. Something that could be taken away from him.

His own mind was determined to make sure he stayed miserable. His thoughts were flooded with memories of Jessica, of what it had been like to be in an actual relationship with someone that he cared about. He found himself comparing that to his relationship with Amelia and how upset Dean had been by it. He dreaded the fight if Dean didn't approve, but they'd have it when it happened, or not depending on his brother's mood. 

In his entire life he'd managed to actually date, and have a real relationship with two people. One he had lost, and the other he chose to walk away from, to let her live the kind of life that she deserved without the added complication of someone like him in the mix. He found himself wondering why Cas would want to be with someone that had his track record with relationships.

As soon as he distracted himself from worrying about what it would mean for him and for Cas if they tried to have something more, his mind settled instead on Mary. On how badly he had missed having her in his life, and how harsh the reality had been in comparison to the idea. He should have known she wouldn't be what he expected. Having her back would managed to make him feel like more of an outsider in his own life.

His thoughts cycled between failed relationships and Mary in an almost predictable rhythm. When it stopped worrying those subjects it settled on reliving things he'd rather forget. The flashes were too vivid for memories. Bright moments of painfully clear recollection that left him feeling claustrophobic. He felt almost certain the walls were going to melt away and reveal the damp basement. It didn't happen though.

The more he thought about it, the more it felt like the walls of the bunker were starting to close in on him. He found himself flinching at every loud noise. It didn't matter how many times he told himself that he was safe, he knew it wasn't really true. The bitch had taken him from the bunker. He dragged his thoughts away from her a half a dozen times in as many minutes tried not to think about how easily he had given into the manipulation. How she had managed to make him forget the torture she'd forced him to endure and when that didn't work, she just moved onto a different type of torture.

In a lot of ways the rape was worse. Pain he could take. He was intimately familiar with it. It was the sex that fucked up his head. He could remember her beneath him and next to him, soft coaxing questions while she spread her legs and made him think he wanted it. It made his skin crawl to think about how easily he'd fallen into the illusion. He'd let her make him believe it was something he'd enjoyed. He could remember the taste of wine that had turned to dust in his mouth and soft caresses that had turned to pain.

He knew his brother was giving their mom the run down of the past thirty years, he didn't join them. He wasn't ready to face Dean. His brother would eventually notice something was wrong with him. The less he was around him the less likely it was he'd be asked questions he didn't want to answer. It helped that Dean probably assumed Sam didn't want to be there when Mary found out what all they'd been through. She was bonding with Dean which was good. He finally saw why so many people said Dean took after Mary, it wasn't just physical they had a lot of little tics and gestures in common. It was weird that his brother looked younger. He was smiling more than he had in years, and laughing more easily. It looked like he was happier than Sam had seen him in years.

The choice was easy, Dean had Mary, and Sam needed out of the house. Sam was doing what he always did when he didn't know what else to do, he was working. Skimming headlines and message boards, and a half a dozen search alerts he kept track of just in case something came up. What he found was a town that had a problem with dying kids. It was as good a place as any to get away from his family. He was packing his duffel bag when Dean came in. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Found a case,” Sam said without looking up at him.

“So, what you were just going to take off without me?” Dean asked.

“No, look its probably nothing, and you've got enough to worry about. I was just going to go check it out, and if it's nothing, then it's nothing.”

“And if it's not nothing?” Dean asked darkly.

“Then I'll deal with it.” Sam said flatly, trying to cover how he'd tensed, half expecting Dean to take a swing at him, “I just need to be doing something, I can't stay here any more. Staring at the walls while you reminisce about the good ol' days like half the shit we've been through never happened.”

“That's not what I'm doing. She asked, I'm just telling her what she wants to know.” Dean argued.

“I'm not trying to piss you off>” Sam tried to sooth his brother's temper by explaining, “I just need a break to clear my head.”

“You're running again.” Dean accused icily, “I don't even know what the hell you're running from this time.”

“I'm not running. It's just a case Dean. I'm going to go take care of it.” There was a difference in running, and working, he needed to work. It was easier than dealing with the nagging sense that he'd never be okay. That things would never stop taking his choices away.

“You can't even go for a walk without coming back shaking and bleeding.” Dean pointed out, his voice even and angry. Sam pushed past him, not bothering to tell him the truth that he was only bleeding because he pushed himself to the absolute limit that he could take before coming back. Dean didn't need to know that. It'd just worry him more.

“You're not taking my car.” Dean blocked the way to the garage.

“I have no idea where I can find another one, it's like the impala is the only car on the planet,” Sam answered sarcastically.

He should have expected Dean's reaction. If he hadn't gone for the low blow he might have had more warning, but he was knocked completely off balance by Dean's weight forcing him against a wall. His eyes tracked the pull back of his brother's fist. He dared Dean to take the swing with a look, even though he didn't want to fight.

“Dean stop!” Mary grabbed Dean's arm and jerked him back. Sam would have rather taken the hit. Dean stepped back, and sighed. “Please,” He whispered, “just give me a few days before we head back out into the fight.”

“You don't have to go with me. I'm not asking you to go with me. Stay here, do...what you're doing.” he finished lamely, “Just, I have to take care of this.”

“Where are you going?” Mary asked. Instead of explaining he reached into pocket on the bag and pulled out the pages he'd printed off. He looked at Dean as he handed them to her. It felt like a defiance. She read them quickly, skimming more than reading.

“There's a chance the last one is still alive,” Sam explained, ““I just don't want anyone else losing their family. not if I can save him.”

“We'll go with you,” She said, not giving him the option to tell her no. 

Dean was shooting daggers at him with his eyes, but he went to get his stuff together throwing his hands up and muttering about just getting one week off. Sam thought about just slipping out while he was packing, going on without him, maybe Dean wouldn't follow. Instead he waited for them pacing the library.

 

The car was quiet. For once Dean didn't turn the radio up, he just drove, one arm half out the window and glaring at the road in front of them. Sam knew it was his own fault, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He didn't ask Dean to come with him.

Cas was in the back seat and their mother was riding with them, quietly watching the scenery. Sam was focused on the case. He felt bad for dragging them all back into the business none of them really wanted to be in in the first place.

Most of getting settled into the town was routine, except with Cas sleeping and Mary there, they got two rooms instead of one. When they walked in and Sam threw his bag on the far bed Dean followed suit, Sam turned around and saw Cas looking awkwardly around the room. He picked the bag back up, “Cas and I will take the other room,” he said before turning to Cas, “Come on,” he ordered. Cas followed him without a word leaving Dean alone with his mom.

“Sam, are you okay?” Cas asked once they closed the door to their room. His face was lined with concern. He was squinting like he was faced with some complicated problem.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Sam answered the question with his own.

“You're not acting like yourself.” Cas said softly, “you seem upset, more than normal.”

“No,” Sam responded, trying to think of something else he could say that would prove that he was okay. Nothing came to mind. He wasn't sure what Cas was seeing though that would make him question it. So he didn't know how to prove he was okay.

“I'm going to find food, do you want anything?” Cas broke the silence that had fallen while Sam searched for an explanation.

“No thanks,” Sam shook his head and ignored the way the mention of food made his stomach rumble in protest. He wasn't sure when the last time that he ate anything really was. He made a mental note to at least get something more than a protein bar later. “I want to get started working,” He told Cas rather than acknowledging that he could probably stand to eat.

Cas looked like he was going to protest, but he left without saying anything closing the door quietly behind him. As soon as the latch clicked closed Sam started digging through the bag digging back out the tablet and the folder that he was putting together. He had a couple ideas, on what could be going on but nothing definite. He found himself doodling on the top of the folder while he searched through the online records, and started making a list of the things he needed to do.

He noticed at some point the doodles were less doodles and more scribbles obliterating the men of letters symbol beneath a broken layer of black ink. Annoyed as much with the mindlessness of the action as anything else, he pulled the pages out of the folder and crumpled it up. Tossing it toward the trash can that was too far away for him to reach easily. He didn't bother picking it up when it fell short.

He was still researching things and making notes when Cas came back. He waited until Sam looked at him then said, “You should talk to Dean. He's starting to worry about you.”

“He knows where I am.” Sam didn't look up from the tablet, “besides, he's got more important things to worry about.”

“Like your mother?” Cas probed gently, afraid of how Sam would take the question.

“Yeah, Mary being back changes things.” He admitted, “but the job still needs done, and I need to work.”

“She's not just Dean's mother.” Cas suggested, “you should give her a chance.”

Sam nodded and considered the words for a few moments before sighing in frustration, “I don't know what you want me to do.”

Cas' hand rested lightly on his shoulder, “pretending you don't care isn't helping either of you.”

Sam closed the folder and turned to face him, Cas was staring at him intently like he was willing him to budge on some point that Sam had never made. “I know, you think that I'm doing something, hiding or something, but I'm not. They can come over here as easily as I can go over there.”

Cas walked out the door without saying anything else. It was a few minutes before he came back Dean following him looking surly about the entire situation. Mary followed him in, “So I found something that might be related to the case, or it might be nothing.” She waited until she was certain she had both of their attention before continuing, “two dead, locked room, victims put out a call about a crying baby, it's been five days and the corners still hasn't put out a cause of death.”

"It doesn't fit the pattern" Dean pointed out, with more patience than he'd shown Sam in years. He continued by explaining, “we're looking into kids, these were adults.”

“Call it a hunch.” Mary dared him to argue with her.

Dean gave up and threw up his hands over dramatically, “fine, we'll check it out.”

 

The house was most likely haunted. The emf readers whined when they walked through the door, and continued spiking through the house. It was quiet except for the groan of the floor boards under their feet. It was always possible there were power lines interfering with the readers, but Sam didn't think that's what was happening. Whether it was the recent deaths or something older he couldn't say. But Mary's hunch had at least been right. There was something going on in the abandoned house. The air was cold but not cold enough to freeze someone, not the way the coroner said had happened, it didn't mean the temperature couldn't drop in a hurry if the spirits in the house went vengeful. They moved with unspoken agreement. Dean went first, Mary followed him, and Sam stayed behind her, keeping her safely between them. Cas stayed next to Sam, though whether that was because of Sam's injuries or convenience was wasn't clear. The dim light from their flashlights cut arcs through dust filled rooms. Mary stepped out from between them pushing open a door. Sam was following the sweep of the reader, checking the other side of the hall when Dean yelled at her.

The door slammed shut between them. It was stupid, they weren't prepared for the possibility that something could happen, that she would wander off and they couldn't protect her. The door was stronger than Sam had expected, taking both his and Dean's weight slamming into it without budging. Though the impact did remind him that he wasn't in the shape to be throwing himself against doors.

Dean jammed the iron crowbar into the frame and pried it apart. Sam was running off adrenaline when he threw himself into the room and dragged Mary away from the small form that had a hand wrapped around her arm. It was a curly haired boy and he was willing to bet that the face would be familiar when they looked at the pictures of the kids who'd died over the past few months.

Mary's arm had an angry red welted hand print. “You're hurt,” Sam noted, in disbelief. They'd had her back less than a month and had already let her get injured on a hunt. He glanced at Cas, it was oddly reminiscent of the scar that had been on Dean's shoulder when Cas saved him. He wondered if he was the only one that noticed. Dean took over from him and lead Mary from the house leaving Sam and Cas to follow them. The spirit didn't try to stop them a second time.

 

Back in the motel room Mary was quiet while Dean wrapped a white bandage around her arm, “that feel okay?” He asked when he had it secured with the white tape.

She flexed her arm, then put her hand over the bandage thinking about it. “Yeah, it's good.” She smiled at him, “you remind me a lot of John.” She looked down at the floor and her face turned inexplicably red, “I mean you're very protective, but gentle.”

“Field medical was one of the things he taught us.” Dean stood up turning to hide the way her words upset him. Sam saw all the conflicting issues playing across his brother's face. Dean and John had a history he didn't think that Mary could understand. There were times when John had been as much a drill Sergent as a father, but he had kept them alive against the odds.

Dean didn't burden her with stories of having to stitch up John after a hunt using whiskey as anesthetic. Sam didn't tell her any of the darker parts of being the children of a lost and grieving man. It was easier if she didn't have to know. That her memory of John was the only one that she had to keep.

Mary excused herself to go change clothes clearly unaware of the tension that had crept into the room.

While she was out of the room, Sam focused on finding out as much as he could about the kids that had died. It was easy to find, five police reports, five kids whose lives had ended too soon. There were families that had been ripped apart. He was opening the last of the reports when Mary came back from the bathroom.

“Okay, ready to head out, knock on some doors?” She asked focused on hiding the bandage on her arm.

“Doors?” Dean asked gruffly, making it sound like the word was a foreign concept to him.

“Yeah, talk to the neighbors, hit up the Hall of records, work the case?” She explained looking at him like he was intentionally being stupid. To be fair though,he probably was. It wasn't like they hadn't done that exact thing every time the internet lead them to a dead end. The wind went out of her when she realized that she wasn't going to be doing the job the way that she was use to, “we still do that right?”

Dean smiled at her, offering her the acknowledgement that it wasn't completely unheard of for them, “sometimes, but the uh, the internet has made most of that legwork –“

“Obsolete,” Sam finished for him, “I'm already in the database.” He explained and saw that it wasn't exactly going over her head but she wasn't welcoming the change either, she was backing away from it, putting physical distance between herself and the computers that had made their jobs so much easier. He knew she was probably overwhelmed by how much had changed in thirty years. When she had died no one even had home computers, in the time since people had moved to the point of carrying smart phones more powerful than anything the super computers of her youth. “It's okay, we'll teach you how to do this.” He promised, half hoping that it'd be something that he could teach her that she could use.

He turned his attention to finding something that matched the story. The search results filtered it out pretty quickly. He came up with a few irrelevant hits but one that fit the story, “Got something,” He tapped Dean's arm getting his attention. His brother looked like he was half asleep. So it was a pretty good bet Dean was at least trying to work. “Mylings, from Scandinavian lore, uh, they're children's spirits, vengeful ones.” He read from the site, “their cries help lure adults to their death.”

Mary was thinking about it, he could see the wheels turning in her head, “The boy that grabbed me, didn't want to hurt me, he was scared.”

“Fear can cause spirits to lash out just as much as anger.” Sam said, “Sometimes they can't differentiate between the person in front of them, and whoever, or whatever killed them.”

She nodded slightly, conceding the point. He turned his attention back to the website, to read more, then decide to try ease the blow of being wrong,“it might have felt like that, but the couple was marked by the spirit before they died, the same way you were marked.” he gestured to her arm. “if we hadn't gotten there in time,” he left it there, not able to meet her eyes and acknowledged they were already risking losing her again when they had just gotten her back.

“We've got all the kids names, and they're buried locally?” Dean asked, “I say we salt and burn 'em, that's the safe bet.” It was said calmly, but Sam knew his brother, Dean was as much wanting to burn them because of one of them posed a threat to Mary as anything else.

They were discussing it when Mary fell onto the bed, her hand going up toward her head like there was an ache there. She looked up at them in surprise when they rushed to her and tried to make sure that she was okay. “I'm fine,” she said, and repeated it a half a dozen times when they didn't believe her.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“I don't know I just got dizzy or something, I'm fine.”

“maybe you should stay here.” Sam suggested, they were going to go dig up graves, the last thing she needed would be to be helping them.

“are you sure you're up for this?” Dean asked, looking at Sam rather than Mary.

“Yeah,” Sam lied again, “unless you and Cas want to dig the graves by yourselves.”

Dean looked him over judging for himself whether or not he thought Sam would be more help or hindrance. Sam made no effort to sway him one way or the other. Dean couldn't stop him from going. “Okay,” he gave in, with another over dramatic pause, “but you're holding the flash light. No digging. I don't want to have to haul your ass out of a six foot hole when you get stuck down there.”

 

Using the hunt to distract himself had almost worked. Until he was sitting on the ground next to the grave of a child who had died too young listening the hard sounds of Dean panting. Cas was a little better but not much. When they finally pried open the coffin to reveal a mostly intact corpse of a little girl Sam forced himself to keep his eyes on the body. The world was full of monsters and it was the kind of monsters that turned the innocent into something dark and twisted that were the hardest to face. If the kids were haunting the place it wasn't their faults. He had the nagging sensation they had missed something. There was a piece that didn't fit. How had the spirits ended up in the house if none of them had died there? As far as he could tell there wasn't any reason for them to be bound to the place. He considered calling Mary to ask her what her hunch had been, because now that he was in the middle of it, he had to agree, something didn't feel right. Cas pulled himself out of the grave. For once he wasn't wearing a suit. Instead he had on a pair of blue jeans that were a little too tight on him and a plain white t-shirt. He was completely stained with grave dirt. It covered his clothes and was even smeared across his forehead. Sam noticed the sheen of sweat standing out on Cas' skin.

“This was an unpleasant experience,” Cas stated sitting down next to him on the grass.

Sam burst out laughing. “Grave desecration is generally considered unpleasant.”

“That's not what we're doing." Cas glared at him, he looked like he'd just been sucking on something sour, "We're purifying, it's a very different situation.”

“We'll make sure to tell the nice cops that the next time we get arrested for it,” Dean said dragging himself out following the same path Cas had taken.

“Bet you're really missing being an angel now,” Sam teased. He popped open the top of the lighter fluid ready to get the rest of the job done so they could get back to the comfort of the motel room. Dean was already pouring salt down into the darkened hole.

“Not sweating was nice," Cas wipe his forehead on the bottom of his t-shirt. Sam did notice he smeared more dirt across his face in the process. 

Dean threw a match into the grave and the child's body flared into flames.

They still had to wait for the body to burn. He decided to take advantage of the time to talk to his brother, “I'm worried about Mom,” he said hoping that Dean would at least listen to him.

“Why?” Dean asked like he didn't know. Like Sam had been the only one in the room when she collapsed, or when she wanted to go straight into working a case like she hadn't been gone for thirty years, or the way she completely shut down when faced with proof that technology had advanced without her.

“You're not?” Sam hadn't even spent a quarter of the time with her Dean had, and he could see that something was wrong.

“She's back, I mean yeah, she's still working out the kinks, we all are still working out the kinks. Can we for once, not turn everything into a problem, can we for once just have one good thing.” Dean had to have seen it then, he was just trying so damn hard to be oblivious.

“Mom's not a thing,” Sam pointed out, though he got what his brother was saying. He wanted so badly to just pretend that giving her time and space was going to make it better, but that didn't seem likely. “Something is going on with her.”

“She's adjusting.” Dean was clearly trying to avoid talking about it.

“No she isn't, she's burying herself in hunting to avoid dealing,” at least that much was familiar, “I don't know, like mother like sons.” it had after all been his intention of using the exact hunt to do that exact thing, but he wasn't so blind to not see when she was trying to do the same thing.

 

Walking into an empty motel room made him regret not saying something sooner. Dean's panic was familiar. For Sam it was weird to not be the target of it. He couldn't do anything but wait while Dean called Mary. It wasn't hard to figure out where she'd gone. If she thought that something else was going on in the house, she'd be going back there. She didn't trust them to do the job right. That stung. It scared the hell out of him to know she would be walking into that house alone. When Dean's call went dead in the middle he knew they had missed something.

They ran to the car, practically racing to get in it. The back door was still swinging closed when the Dean threw it from reverse to drive and the tires barked on the pavement. As soon as they were in the driveway Dean threw her in park, before it had all the way stopped, the impala was still rocking on her suspension from the abrupt stop when Dean shoved open the door. Dean made it to the house first with Sam close on his heels. For just a little while any pain Sam might have felt was forgotten. Mary was in trouble. He was terrified they were going to be too late. He knew losing her twice would completely destroy Dean.

They heard Mary scream and followed the sound to find her standing in the same room as before, mindless of their entry. There were five spirits circling her flickering in and out of existence. It took a moment for him to realize they were the children whose bones they'd just finished burning. A shadow moved around the room, pulling itself from the walls and forming into a solid figure. It moved toward her and the children moved into it. For a second there was a spark of light and they bounded off each other. The shadow had claws, it wasn't quite smoke either. When it formed in front of them Sam could see that it was inhuman, it's skin was black and charred, it's lips stretched black thin and it opened it's mouth to scream. It's tongue was gray, desecrated, and looked like something forgotten to rot. It's amber eyes flared in the dark of the room.

“No!” Sam screamed before he could stop himself. It wasn't possible. “You're dead.” his voice came out a broken whisper. The wall hit his back, stopping him from getting any farther from it. It kept coming. The form dissolved into black smoke. Dean stood in front of him, tire iron wielded like a bat, he was already moving back toward Mary, “what the hell are they all doing here?” He asked.

“He's keeping them here.” Mary explained, “I promised we'd free them, but I can't figure out how he's binding them. Keep him off of me, I have to find whatever remains he took.” She was already moving and Dean followed her. Sam couldn't get his legs to work. His muscles were trembling. He closed his eyes, willing himself to hold it together a little longer, he wasn't in a place he could afford to lose control. Cas was next to him in a heart beat, dragging him away from the wall, “come on,” he ordered. Sam found that he was able to move again holding onto Cas. A new sound was filling the house, not the sound of Dean swinging at the monster, but a higher wail of a child crying. Mary ran toward the sound, the smoke followed and swung again. Dean was thrown back against the wall. Ancient plaster rained down around him. Sam saw it reform in front of his brother, claws extended and reaching toward Dean's neck like it intended to rip through him. Sam threw himself toward the fallen tire iron. As soon as it had it's familiar weight in his hand he launched it. Rather than smoking around it, the iron embedded itself in solid flesh. The next instant the iron clattered onto the wooden floor. It had distracted them enough that by the time dean was running toward the door, Sam realized what they both should have already known. It had managed again to separate them from Mary. The smoke slipped past the door and it slammed shut behind it. The door held against their weight. They threw themselves at it again, but the sound of cracking wood came from behind them. Sam turned to see Cas kicking the rotten boards that were nailed over the windows until they gave, and swung outward with the groan of ripping wood and bending rusted nails. Cas jumped out the window and onto the ground beneath it. Dean kicked the door one last time and the wood beside the door knob splintered and broke. He pushed through it, Sam followed him trying to follow the sound of the screaming. The house had grown quiet, but the screaming continued. In an upstairs bedroom they found Mary standing over a weathered crib. Her back was too them, and the spirits appeared to have abandoned them. Sam scanned the room looking for the demon they'd been fighting, he felt a creeping certainty that he knew exactly where it had gone.

“Mom” Dean put his hand on her arm, and it swung backward, her elbow catching him in the side of the face and he went down, looking comically shocked at the attack.

When she turned to face Sam her eyes were black, she smiled, a look that was more cold and malicious than he thought her features were capable of.

“Dean, she's possessed,” he whispered alarmed. The first words of the exorcism was out of his mouth but she turned her attention to him. Another unseen blow threw him against a decaying wall. She had a hand around Dean's neck in the next heartbeat.

“My house.” She said her voice coming out a rumbling growl, “My children. Forever.”

Cas was there before Sam could find his breath, lifting her off her feet and onto the floor. Mary was pinned beneath him. Cas picked the exorcism back up from where Sam had started it. Dean joined in on it about the time Mary managed to throw Cas off her and drag herself back to her feet.

There was a scream and laughter from the thing that had burrowed its way inside her. “It's not working,” Cas pointed out, “there's something anchoring it to the house.”

Cas picked back up the exorcism, and Dean broke off his place in the chant, “Mom, you're going to have to fight it.”

The hand wrapped around his throat again, snaking out in a lightening quick grab. “Mommy's gone.” she growled, “She's not coming back.”

Dean's eyes fluttered briefly looked like he might pass, out then he gasped. The fight came back into him. He managed to get break her grip, “Mom, I know you can hear me, fight it.”

There was a scream, and she gasped out the word “Basement,” before she was reaching for Dean again. 

“Keep chanting,” Sam told Cas as he ran past him. 

Toward the bottom of the steps he slipped, and caught himself agony flaring up from his foot, and his leg, there was nothing that looked like it was out of place, a lot of standard household gardening tools.

One of the kids appeared next to him, the air in the basement started feeling steadily icier. “Where is it?” he asked hoping the kid would know what he was looking for even if Sam himself wasn't a hundred percent sure. The boy pointed at a blank wall. He had to assume that it was the other side of it. There wasn't anywhere else to look. He found a sledge hammer, and lifted it almost knocked him backwards. He found his balance and swung it against the boards. They splintered but held firm.

The next swing sent him staggering against the wall for support for a second, he didn't have time to give in to how badly he wanted to just sit down for a minute and wait for his body to get a little strength back. He pushed himself away from the wall and threw the last of his energy into breaking through the boards remaining, he aimed a few careful blows at the places the boards were secured, they clattered to the ground just inside the crawl space. There was a make shift alter set up in the darkened corner. A symbol painted above it in what he hoped was paint, but wasn't stupid enough to let himself believe it. He lifted the sledge hammer again and sent it down into the middle of the alter, candles, herbs, and bones scattered through the room. The last good swing he had in him broke the line of the symbol, he hoped that was enough for the exorcism to work, when he gave in and sank down onto the cold floor. The kid that had been with him disappeared, leaving him alone in another dank abandoned basement.

He stared at the steps he didn't have it in him to climb. He was seeing double. The stairs in front of him seemed to bleed into the stairs that had been there before. He waited what felt like a lifetime. He wasn't sure if he expected Dean to come for him or if he was expecting the British bitch to come down the stairs. As soon as he felt like he could hold his own weight he was going to try to get the hell off the floor at least, but his leg was shaking with the effort of breaking down the wall, and he was pretty sure he had torn open at least a few of the jagged cuts that Toni had left in her wake.

Dean would come get him. He was certain that Dean was upstairs, with their mom, and with Cas, and that as soon as they finished the exorcism they'd come looking for him. Reminding himself of the truth only made it harder to believe. Dean was dead, and his mother had been dead almost as long as he'd been alive, and Cas? He tried not to imagine that something had happened to Cas while he was locked in the room. The walls were closing in on him, but he couldn't bring himself to move, he was too tired, too sick, too sore, and too certain that no one was coming, because no one was left.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The door opened on groaning hinges. Cas came down the stairs, followed closely by Dean. Sam was so damned relieved to see them he could have cried. It had been stupid that for a moment he'd been so afraid of where he'd been he'd almost stopped believing in where he was.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean sank down on the floor next to him, “What the hell did you do?”

“Took down a wall,” Sam forced himself to laugh, it choked off in a pained whimper, “there was an alter boarded up behind there.” he pointed at the tangle of broken boards, “Had to take it out.”

“Mom found something upstairs,” He said, “Apparently the crying wasn't a ghost, there was a kid.”

“How did the police miss that?” He asked.

Dean shrugged like it wasn't something concerning, “The hell if I know. We're going to make sure the house is cleaned out, then we'll go, you want to wait in the car?”

Sam wanted to tell him he was fine, that he could help, but he didn't have a chance before Cas was taking his weight from Dean, and helping keep him on his feet. He was trying to breath steadily and pretend that he didn't feel like he was either going to pass out or throw up. The nausea would pass soon enough, hopefully when the adrenaline burned out of his system.

Dean disappeared back into the house to collect their mother, and the child that had been living with monsters. Sam couldn't imagine how it was even possible for it to be alive if it's only care giver was a demon and a handful of ghostly children. It was amazing what kids could live with and still be okay.

Cas helped Sam into the car and held open the door while asking, “What can I do to help?”

“Come here.” Sam ordered. Cas obeyed leaning close enough that Sam could smell the dirt clinging to his skin, and felt the warmth of Cas's hand against his shoulder. “Can I kiss you?” he didn't know the words were in his mind until they fell past his lips.

The answer was Cas moving closer and pulling him into something that was a hell of a lot more rough than Sam had in mind. He let Cas lead for a fraction of a second before Sam took over pulling him so he half fell into the car on. 

“so that....” Sam had to stop to put the words together, it had been amazing, he had expected something almost chaste, the not quite sure type of first kiss, instead he felt like he was a little light headed trying to match to the gentleness of his touch and the concern on his face. Seeing Cas was still waiting for him to finish the sentence he didn't mean to start he said, “that wasn't what I expected.” Cas's weight was heavy on his already sore leg, but he didn't want to say anything to end the moment.

“I didn't want you to change your mind.” Cas said his voice a low rumble that was a hell of a lot more seductive than it had the right to be. Cas' hand found the back of his head tangled in his hair and tilted his head up. the second kiss was possessive and searching. When he pulled away Sam was caught with the sudden memory of Cas and the rage and violence he was capable of. He was so awkwardly human at times it was almost easy to forget that underneath all of that he still held himself with the quiet burning surety of a comet.

Cas fingers stroked against the back of his neck. Sam leaned into the pleasant touch while it lasted. Cas paused his movements, "Am I hurting you?" 

Sam shook his head, "the bullet hole in my leg is hurting me, you're not."

Cas moved off him quickly and he looked down guiltily, at Sam's leg. He apologized and placed his hand over the wound. The touch was warm and meant as comfort. Sam's reaction to it was far less innocent. He watched Cas face while he lingered, "I'm sorry I can't fix this." He repeated. 

When Dean and Mary came out there was a bundle of blankets in her arms that was crying loudly. Cas stepped away from him and closed the door. Sam could see Dean was a step behind Mary with one hand on her back escorting her to the car. Cas opened the car door for her and she slid into the back seat, whispering soothing words. Cas took his place behind Dean, and Dean turned the car back toward the motel.

Sam was still replaying the brief kisses in his mind when Dean broke the silence, “We need to stop for supplies and figure out where we're going to drop him off at.”

“That may not be possible,” Cas reminded them. Sam looked over the seat at him, his eyebrows were furrowed with concern, “if a demon had the child chances are it's family is most likely dead, or possibly sold him in exchange for something. ”

“I thought Demons were strictly into souls,” Dean said, “I mean I've never heard of them asking for anything else.”

“Souls are their main currency, yes, but there are many spells that use infants as ingredients, bones, teeth, eyes, a few really dark ones use the beating heart of a newborn, though he may be a little old for that particular spell.” Cas had a way of saying the most disturbing things like they were routine.

“So first step is figuring out who he belongs to, then we'll worry whether or not we're going to let them have him back. If not, I guess we could drop him off with Jody and see if she can find a foster family willing to take him.”

Dean's eyes were on the road so he didn't see the way Mary pulled the baby closer. Just under the normal noise of their lives there was an unfamiliar sound. The soft melodious singing of a familiar song. Her voice was almost drown out by the growl of the car.Sam found his thoughts drifting while he listened to the growl of the engine and his mother singing to the child they'd rescued and the soft hum of the tires on the pavement.

They didn't speak for a while with the road winding out in front of them. Each caught up in their own thoughts. An unhappy whimper was followed by a break in the humming, “It's okay,” she whispered, “Shh, Sammy, just a little longer.”

Sam's looked back at them then away from Mary and the child, first to the road, and then to Dean, the smirk on his face made Sam whisper, “shut up,” before his brother could say anything to break the moment or bring her attention to her slip.

“I didn't say anything.” Dean sounded like he wanted to be teasing his Out of the darkness there was an oasis, a well lit parking lot with a twenty four hour sign. He turned toward it. “We'll pick up supplies.”

Mary shifted, “We'll wait here, it's easier than taking a crying kid in a store. I can make you a list of what all we need, I just need something to write on.”

“It's okay,” Dean said, “I don't need a list.”

“Oh?” she looked between Sam and Dean and back down to the baby in her arms, "Do either of you have kids?"

“Not that we know of,” Sam answered for them both. Dean didn't argue. Though Sam had to wonder which kid Dean had been thinking about. Emma was a monster, and Ben hadn't really been Dean's even if for a little while he'd filled the role.

It didn't feel right leaving her alone but Sam needed to tell Dean what happened in the car the longer he waited the more pissed his brother was going to be. Rather than leaving them alone he asked Cas to stay with them.

“Of course,” Cas agreed and smiled like it was something he genuinely wanted to do.

 

The aisles were so brightly lit inside the store time seemed meaningless. Sam followed Dean through aisles of pink and blue chewing over the words he wasn't sure how to spit out. “Spill, what's bothering you?” Dean finally asked saving him the trouble of figuring out how to start.

“Nothing,” Sam said staring a little too intently at the options in the aisle. Dean was going to pick everything out anyways.

“Right,” Dean threw something into the cart and pulled out his phone, “and you know I believe you.”

“Cas asked me if I want to date him.” Sam said, then shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't fidget while waiting on Dean's response.

“Hmm,” Dean said, his eye brow arching, “and.”

“And what?” Sam asked feigning innocence of the whole situation..

“You wouldn't be telling me if there wasn't something to tell, so what did you say?”

“I think we're going to.” He shrugged, trying to show it wasn't a big deal, while Dean figured out whatever he was going to say.

“You're okay with that?” Dean asked.

“Why wouldn't I be?” The question surprised him.

“I don't know man, Lucifer for one.” He threw the word like a punch. “He did let him out after everything that you went through, I thought you might have a little more self preservation than to just keep blindly trusting the guy.”

“He thought he was doing the right thing,” Sam couldn't pretend he was happy with the decision but he understood it at least, “and Amara killed Lucifer so that works for me actually. And the last I checked Cas is our friend, not just mine.”

“He is, but it's different when he's sleeping with my brother.” Dean looked guiltily around afraid someone had over heard him, his voice was a angry whisper, “besides, I'm a little pissed it took you so long to tell me.”

“What? An hour was too long for you to wait for the news? So should I have told you as soon as it happened, while we were digging up children's bones, or in the car with Mary?” He took a breath and let go of the annoyance, Dean was just Dean, he wasn't going to hear it anyways, “I'm telling you now.”

“Okay, just don't do something stupid like have sex in the library, I mean it, I come in and see you bent over the table, I'm going to have to bleach my eyes.” Dean started toward the end of the aisle. 

“Don't be an idiot.” Sam couldn't help the small smile when he said it, he was pretty sure that was as close to a blessing from Dean as he was going to get.

“So at what point were you planning on telling me you're gay?” Dean asked over his shoulder, before turning down the next aisle and leaving Sam to catch up with him. The next aisle over he changed the subject, before Sam could say anything “so are you going to talk about the other thing that's bothering you?” Dean asked. "You called mom by her name?" 

“I'm good with not talking about it,” Sam picked up a stuffed rabbit off the display and focused on checking the tag on it. “If it bothers you, talk to her about it not me.”

“That's such a bullshit answer,” Dean said. But he dropped the subject “I think we've got everything, lets get the hell out of here.” The woman at the checkout counter smiled at them warmly and didn't ask any questions beyond, “how are you today?” while she scanned the array of baby stuff. Checking out still took a few minutes. “Here,” Dean pulled the stuffed rabbit out of the bag and shoved it into Sam's hands. “take your rabbit.”

Dean wrestled the car seat into the middle of the backseat. Mary was pacing beside the car, the baby in one arm and the bottle in the other. She hummed while she walked. On each lap she went only as far as the end of the parking space then pivoted back the other way.Sam sat the rabbit was sat on top of the car. It slumped forward so far it's floppy ears touched the metal, it looked comically dejected.

Sam and Cas unloaded everything into trunk of the car. Sam was thankful at least the impala had plenty of space for everything they'd gotten. They finished before Dean, got the car seat secured but not by much. As soon as Dean climbed out of the car he announced, “okay, I think it's in there.”

Mary moved past him and put the child in the car seat. Sam handed her the toy rabbit through the open door. He might have second guessed it if he had any longer to think about it. instead she took ti with a smile and a whispered thanks. Dean smiled at him like it'd been his idea to begin with. "Let's get the hell out of here." he muttered.

There was another soft whimper when the car started but it fell into silence almost immediately. Then they were moving again, following the highway that would lead them home. Sam felt a soft touch against his shoulder and turned to see the smile on Mary's face, he put his hand over hers and noticed how small it was in comparison to his own. The humming started up again, the sweet tones of “Hey Jude” filled the car, and Sam couldn't stop the smile of affection when Dean starting singing along with her.

 


	6. Chapter 6

It was good to finally get home. The car was too cramped for four people and a car seat, even if it was a big car. He fell onto his bed and just lay there for a while staring at the ceiling. It'd been a long drive and a long night off too little sleep. There was a knock at the door. He called, “yeah,” just before the door opened quietly.

  
Sam moved over without looking, “I think I could sleep for a week.”

“It's the adrenaline drop,” Mary said softly from the door.

Sam sat up, and cleared his throat, “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“I know.” she said, she looked from him down at her feet. “I wanted to say I'm sorry, about the thing in the kitchen, you didn't deserve that.”

“You don't have to apologize to me,” Sam said, “it's not your fault either, you can't help the way you feel any more than I can.”

She waited for him to say something else until it was clear he didn't have anything to say. Then she hesitated, “how are you feeling?”

He shrugged, “Like I got shot, ran a couple miles, fought a couple monsters, and just made it back to my bed. I'm tired, but I'm fine.”

She looked at him with a look that was so close to the one Dean gave him when he lied about being fine he might have laughed if he wasn't feeling too drained to deal with it.  
“I'm sorry to, for not thinking before I spoke.” Her lip quirked up into a shaky smile, “I want to try this again, maybe tomorrow we can talk. I want to know you.”

He could appreciate the effort, he matched her smile, “tomorrow sounds good.”

“Okay,” she said, “good night Sam.”

He echoed the sentiment, then she hesitated in the door way a second longer before stepping out of the way so Cas could walk into the room. “Good night Castiel.” she said. In the next moment she was gone and the door was closing behind Cas.

He looked between Sam and the door, “You didn't talk very long,” he said, “but then you both seem like you could end up being laconic under the right circumstances.”

“Probably,” Sam agreed, “so what are we watching tonight?” He asked, already knowing what Cas was in the middle of binge watching but giving him a chance to talk about it.

“There's a documentary, I saw, I don't actually know what it's about, but I thought you might like it.”

“Since when do you watch documentaries?” Sam asked reorganizing the pillows against the head of the bed.

“Dean said you enjoy them.” Cas answered simply, “I asked what kind, he said find something with a dog in it.” He was already skimming through the titles looking for what he wanted.

“You asked Dean?” Sam asked skeptically, “god, that couldn't have been a fun conversation.”

“He took it very seriously, after he stopped laughing.” Cas said, “He suggested some stuff that I thought would have been inappropriate first though.”

“Like what?” Sam asked not bothering to guess.

“City of Angels, for one, apparently it's about an angel that decided to fall because he loved a woman.”

“I think he might have been being serious on that.” Sam said.

“Well his first suggestion was porn.” he said.

“A specific porn?” Sam asked half thinking Dean might have chosen a movie that just sounded like it was porn.

“No, he said porn.” Cas offered and the room was suddenly filled with the sound of dogs barking through the speakers way too loudly for something to go to sleep to. It was lowered back down to a reasonable level.

The show wasn't mind blowing, but it was a nice back ground noise. They found comfortable positions on the bed barely close enough to touch. It was about the history of dogs. A man with a faint accent narrated an interesting subject with the least amount of feeling possible.

Sam watched Cas watch the tv. Sam was pretty sure he had the more interesting view. Cas noticed him watching eventually, “what?” he asked without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Can I kiss you again?” Sam already moving closer. His hand sought out Cas's and tangled their fingers together while tugging him closer ready to let go at the slightest sign of resistance.

“If you'd like you don't have to stop at kissing me.” Cas whispered against his lips.

Sam did kiss him, once quickly and pulled away immediately. “do you mean that?” he asked.

“Yes” Cas said, then shifted so he was pressing against Sam, pushing him back against the head of the bed, his lips rough and demanding. Weight shifted almost immediately over him, the bed springs groaned loudly as Cas straddled his lap.

Cas pulled back just a little bit, his face so close to Sam's his breath was warm against his skin. Sam felt like he couldn't breath. His breath caught in his throat on the way out. Cas moved closer again his lips sealing over Sam's and the last of the air seemed to be gone from his lungs. It's Cas, he thought, but it didn't ease the burning tension in his guts of too familiar panic. “Get off me,” he managed to force out.

The weight was gone instantly, “are you okay?” Cas was asking, but it sounded like his voice was coming from a distance, through the pounding of Sam's heart and the harsh burning in his lungs.  
“I'm fine. I couldn't breath.”

When the razor sharp edge of panic receded it was replaced by the aching sting of embarrassment. “I'm okay,” he said again, just to wipe the look of concern off Cas' face. It wasn't like he could have pinpointed exactly why his lungs felt like they were closing up on him. He refused to think about it.

“Sam.” Cas stopped at saying his name, then moved as far away as he could get without leaving giving Sam space he thought he needed. “tell me,” he demanded.

“There's nothing to tell,” Sam said.

Cas moved back to his normal spot on the bed, his hand found Sam's wrist and he traced nonsensical patterns into the skin there without saying anything. He was still looking at Sam though, still waiting for an answer or an explanation, and neither of them was forth coming. It was there, stuck at the back of his throat, waiting to come out and make it all make sense, but it wasn't right and he shouldn't feel about it the way he felt, it was Cas next to him, and Cas touching him, Cas filling his space and taking it over, but for a while, for just a little while it had been Lucifer in Cas' body, and then the British bitch had reminded him again how easy it was for him to lose control. For him to have his choices striped away. .

“I thought he was you,” Sam said after a little while, “for a long time, I didn't even realize anything was wrong.”

“Why would you have? He didn't want you to know, and I'm sorry I couldn't tell you, but I didn't have time, and the entire world was at stake.” Cas looked down at the bed, like it held the answers, it was clear he didn't want to meet Sam's eyes.

“I know, you were trying to do what you thought was right,” Sam soothed, his hand catching Cas' lingering fingers and holding them still. “I get it, I respect that, but he was here and he was pretending to be you, and I should have known that it wasn't you a long time before I did.”

The silence hung between them. It should have been easy to break it, but something important was lying just beneath the surface of it. The wrong word felt like it could destroy the fragile beginnings of whatever they could be together.

“How can I fix this?” Cas asked, the pained sound in his voice.

“Just stay with me.” Sam answered, “give me time.”

“Take how ever long you need,” Cas said, “I'm not going anywhere if I can help it.”

He turned back toward the tv and Sam stomach dropped in stupid disappointment. He wanted to be okay. he pushed all of the crap out of his head and focused on Cas, on the reality of him, Cas was broken, damaged, a little unexpected at times, but he was good, he was underneath everything a truly good person. Who would give up everything, even his own life to do what he felt was right.

Sam rolled toward him, covered Cas with his weight almost instantly knocking a surprised breath from him. “that's about enough time.” he said, shrugged off Cas confusion and kissed him quick and deep poured everything that he had into it, rough, fast, movements. Drinking in the taste of his lips before easing it back to a gentler pace.

Cas stared at him for a few moments long enough to make him wonder if he'd done something wrong. “You don't have to prove anything to me.” Cas whispered, “I can't imagine what you've been through, and I can't imagine that seeing Lucifer again, and being forced to work with him, did you any favors. I know that's my fault and I can't ask you to forgive me for that, because I made that choice for you. But I don't need you to pretend to be okay with something you're not.”

“It's not your fault, you were trying to do what you thought was right.”

“It doesn't change what that did to you,” Cas whispered guiltily.

Sam moved as soon as the thought had formed, grabbed his face and kissed him again shutting up the stupid pointless self blame, “Stop thinking about it,” Sam ordered, “Just focus on now.” One smooth twist of his weight and he had Cas pinned down on the bed, one hand held his jaw forcing Cas to tilt his head so Sam's teeth could nip roughly down the line of his throat.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked his voice a rough sex growl.

“What I want,” Sam answered, his hands pushed Cas' shirt out of the way and his lips followed a trail down the center of his chest, between his abs, and back up to nip roughly at the point where his neck met his shoulder.

It was better with Cas on his back, his lips parted in surprise at each new place that Sam choose to explore. It was a slow leisurely exploration, he was figuring out everything that made him make the soft sighing sounds of pleasure.

Sam's nails raked down his side and Cas was torn between a shiver of pleasure and trying to pull away from the touch, something abrupt and expected taking him completely out of wherever he had been. Sam felt and saw the look that crossed his face, and it was an unexpected thrill he pressed his fingers back against that spot.

“What was that?” He teased. Lightly increased the pressure until he felt Cas squirm underneath him again, a hand wrapped around his upper arm and pushed it away from him.  
He let his hand slide away from the spot, holding instead against the sharp edge of his hip, “I can't believe you're ticklish.” he muttered and pressed another kiss above his belly button.

Sam pulled his shirt back down over his stomach and laid down on him. The quiet dragged out filled with the soft noise from the TV and the gentle rubbing of Cas' finger's against his scalp in slow hard drags. His mind kept drifting away from the present, comparing the way Cas was masculine and muscled to the soft feminine frame of his latest tormentor.

There was a sharp rap at the door and Dean burst into the room. Sam started to reach for his gun then saw that it was Dean. “We're going to the hospital,” Dean explained taking in the way they were lying without comment. “The kid's sick.”

  
“Wait, I'll go with you.” Sam said dragging himself away from the warmth of Cas' skin and following his brother out the door. 


	7. Chapter 7

The hospital waiting room definitely was making him question the decision to go with them. It wasn't like he had a reason to be there. The stringent antiseptic smell was causing a dull ache to start behind his eyes. The entire building was as quiet as a tomb. The few people who drifted through the waiting room, talked in hushed whispers. Instead of sitting Sam paced. The steps sent bolts of pain through him. He was okay with it. The sheer physicality of the pain was a comfort. It was proof he was still alive and had made it through one more psychopath getting their hands on him.

Cas had gone to get coffee and he really hoped that he got back with it soon. It wasn't that it bothered him to be alone. He still felt relief when Cas came back with a tray holding four steaming paper cups. “Thanks Cas,” he said taking the closest to him.

“Of course,” Cas answered, his expression pinched with concern.

“What?” Sam asked then blew on the steaming cup.

“You don't look okay,” Cas said, “You're pale, and you're pacing, was there news?”

“About the kid?” Sam asked, “no, haven't heard anything yet.”

It was true, hell he wasn't even entirely sure what was wrong with the kid, but if it was bad enough Dean and Mary both decided to take off to the nearest emergency room in the middle of the night with a kidnapped infant then there was definitely something seriously wrong.

“What do you think they did to him?” He asked.

Cas didn't answer for long enough that Sam was almost sure he wasn't going to, “I don't know, it could have been anything, most likely if they were planning on using him for a sacrifice they would have poisoned him.”

The coffee took his interest, thoughts of what that meant distracted him from how much he hated waiting rooms.

Dean found them there, “so?” Sam asked.

“They're doing blood work.” 

“That's good right?” Cas asked, “they'll be able to help.”

“If it's something they can treat, it it's supernatural, I don't think they'll be able to do anything.” He closed his eyes, “Any other town, any other situation I'd say we'd done our part, and it's time to move on, but Mom's not going to let that kid out of her sight.”

“Can you blame her?” Sam asked, taking a stronger interest in the dark depths of his coffee cup.

“No, but it's a complication.” Dean said, “man take the car, go home and get some rest you look wiped.”

“I'm fine,” Sam said, “you're here, mom's here, I'm not going anywhere without you.”

Dean looked like he was going to argue. Sam waited for him to lay out his objections. Instead Dean sighed ran a hand through his hair and nodded, “okay,” he said, looking down, he found one of the chairs beside the wall and sank down into it with a sigh.

Sam followed him and settled into the chair beside him close enough their legs brushed. It was ridiculous how much better he felt being able to feel Dean beside him. Dean's hand landed on his leg and he squeezed gently.

“I don't know what the hell we're doing here.” Dean admitted, “I thought that she might be okay, but I mean I can't imagine what's going through her head.”

Sam didn't know what to say, he closed his eyes and just let the entire conversation wash over him. It was good, that some of the shiny edge had been taken off and Dean was starting to see just how hard the next few weeks were going to be. “She needs time,” he offered at last, “a lot's changed.”

“Yeah, but her latching onto this kid, isn't going to turn back the clock, it's not going to fix anything.” Dean sounded exhausted, completely unlike he had since Mary came back into his life.

“Maybe she just needs to be needed.” Sam said.

“I need her,” Dean barked.

Sam didn't have it in him to roll his eyes, “I'm sorry, how do you think we should handle it? Drop the kid off with Jody and say 'best of luck, see you around Christmas?'”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “I know it's not the kindest way to handle it, but Jody's good with kids.”

“You can't just expect her to adopt every orphan we pick up.”

“She adopted us,” Dean reminded him with a smile.

“We're not kids, we never really were.” Sam said patiently. He was tired, and the conversation wasn't one he wanted to be having, if Dean was starting to see that maybe their mother wasn't any more perfect than their dad had been, maybe it was better if he figured that out on his own.

They were interrupted by a soft whimper of the kid in question when Mary carried him across the small space, a medical id bracelet was on his arm, and she was holding him close, “they said that they can't find anything,” she said looking over her shoulder, “So we can go, they'll call with results of the second round of tests in the morning.” She looked down sheepishly, “they think it's colic.”

“But that's like normal kid stuff right?” Dean asked, “that's good news right?”

“Yeah, they suggested trying a different formula.” she said to the kid wrapped up in her arms.

The hard core screaming of the trip in had fallen off to tired whimpers, it was still going to be a long ride home.

There was paperwork that had to be filled out at the front desk with a promise they'd bring the insurance information and paperwork the first chance they got. Mary looked at Dean at the tight way that he was holding himself and said Sam's name softly, “Will you hold him for me?” It wasn't so much a request as a polite demand and in seconds there was the soft weight of the child settling into his arms.

Dean leaned against the chair arm pressed close against Sam's side. It felt like a different kind of breaking. The hand that worked it's way out of the blanket latched onto his finger and there was a hiccup of surprise from the kid. He dragged Sam's hand up in front of his face and stared at it for a few seconds before it bit his knuckle.

“Jesus, you have teeth,” he muttered letting it gnaw on him. “are they suppose to have teeth this little?”

“I have no idea,” Dean said, but he was grinning.

Sam felt some spark that he might have mistaken for hope start. “He's going to be okay,” he said softly, unclear whether he was talking to himself or to Dean.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The drive home was filled with the sound of crying. They couldn't make it back to the bunker fast enough, but Dean didn't reach for the radio. “Turn the heater up.” Mary ordered from the back seat. The vents rattled to life and warmth flooded the car. Despite the size of her, she warmed up quickly. There was some shuffling in the backseat. It fell quiet for a few seconds, and there was a collective sigh that moved through the car.

“I think they missed something,” Mary whispered into the space, “this can't be just normal baby stuff.”

“How do you know?” Cas asked. Sam twisted around to see him leaning across the seat his fingers pressed against the child's forehead like he would heal him if he could.

“I just know,” she answered, “call it a mothers intuition, or whatever you want, there's something wrong with him.”

There was a look of pained regret when Cas pulled his hand away. “It's possible,” he acknowledged, “we don't know exactly what they wanted the child for. It might have been something more than just a sacrifice or spell work, or he may be under the effects of a spell.”

“The last kid that I heard screaming like that was Sam,” Dean teased, but his voice was harsh, too much thought behind the words.

“That's not funny,” Sam muttered.

“I wasn't actually joking,” Dean said, silence fell between them.

“You think they did something to him? Sam asked softly, the words didn't want to come, but he had the feeling he knew what Dean was implying. “Like a new generation of psychic kids?”

“No,” Dean answered too quickly. The thought had stuck though, a edge of _what if_ that was a horrifying thought, “Crowley doesn't need psychics.”

“But would it be possible?” Sam asked no longer thinking about Dean. When he'd first seen the demon, he'd been certain he was seeing a different monster one from their past. But when it had possessed Mary it's eyes had been black.

“Regardless of if it's possible,there were demons involved, we know who to call, and what questions to ask.” Cas chimed in from the back seat.

“Great,” Dean muttered, “Just what we need. Crowley isn't going to help us, not without some kind of payment.”

“How about we let him live?” Cas suggested, “I mean it's worked before.”

“Or we don't,” Sam said, “That's a debt that it's time for us to settle.”

The conversation lapsed into the sound of the tires humming on the highway and the sound of Mary singing softly over the soft whimpering cries of the infant, who was too tired to scream anymore.

The trip felt like it was never going to end. The sound of the child crying was causing a twisted anxiety in Sam. He pretended not to notice the way Mary's eyes shone a little brighter. Dean slammed the door a little too hard when he got out. It would have been easy to just disappear into his room and leave Mary to deal with the crying.

If he was blind he would have still been able to see she was exhausted, and Dean didn't look much better. “I'll take him so you can get some rest,” he offered.

He surprised her. The resulting softening of her eyes in relief made him glad he offered.

“Are you sure?” She asked, “I don't think he's going to stop.”

“Believe it or not, I think I can handle it.” He smiled, “ get some sleep I can take care of him for a few hours.”

She might have been willing to protest but she was clearly dead on her feet. She handed the kid off and gave him a grateful smile before going down the hall toward her room.

“Okay, let's go find a book,” he said to the indifferent screaming bundle. There were a lot to choose from but not many that weren't really dry written lore books.

“Poetry sound good to you?” He asked, pulling a leather bound book off the shelf. It was probably a little too dark for an infant, but he doubted the kid was going to complain any more than he was already. The hard wood chairs were passed over in favor of the one between the shelves, that was more padded and leather. The springs in the chair groaned a little under his weight and he sat the book on the shelf long enough to carefully take off his shoes. It wasn't until he had taken them off that he realized how bad his foot was protesting the confinement.

It took a second to find a good position where nothing really hurt and the kid was secure against his arm. “You're going to be okay,” he whispered before reaching for the book, his hand spanning the entirety of his small body holding him stable. He felt the frantic beat of his heart and wished there was something that he could do to comfort the kid.

His face was red from screaming and he was so hot that Sam thought he had to be burning up with fever. He knew though if there was something that could have been done for that Dean or Mary, or the hospital would have done it already, he couldn't offer any more care than had already be given, but he could keep the kid company while his mother and brother got the rest they needed.

The book smelled like time and dust. There was inexplicable comfort in the stability of books. Every library he'd ever found had the same smell. A half formed thought drifted up _smells like home_ he dismissed it just as quickly and flipped through the book, too jaded to give in to the sentimental turn of the thought.

He waited until there was a momentary quieting of the child, and thought said started reading quietly, “Once upon a midnight dreary...”

 


	9. Chapter 9

It was easy to fall into the rhythm of reading and let the world around him fall away. He only had cursory noticed when the child fell quiet, other than occasional throaty outbursts. The cries then quieted to almost entirely whimpers, it shifted restless a few times. At last there was only the sound of his voice filling the space between the books.

“You have a good voice,” Mary sighed when he was between poems.

“I didn't realize I had an audience.” He said then looked down at the baby that shifted against him, “or at least not one that could appreciate gothic poetry.”

She smiled, “Well, it's not stairway to heaven, but I like it.”

He met her smile with one of his own, “never really pictured you as a Led Zepplin fan.”

“How did you not?” She asked, “I mean it's how me and your dad met.”

“I didn't know that.” He said softly, “Dad and Dean, didn't really talk about you much.” he said looking down at the kid. He felt a creeping shame at admitting it, like it was something he should have kept to himself.

Her eyes widened, “but Dean knew.”

Sam didn't meet her eyes, he didn't have anything to add.

She walked away and he thought that she was leaving, instead she carried back one of the chairs from the table and put it against the edge of the book shelf. “So, tell me about yourself.” She said.

“What do you want to know?'” He asked, there wasn't much that he wanted her to know about, so many bad things lurked in his past.

“I just have so much about you boys to catch up on, Mother stuff.”he looked back at her and saw the open sincerity there, “you know? First tooth? First crush?” There was a pleading note to her voice like she was asking forgiveness for shutting him down so hard before.

“I can't tell you the first one,” he said, “Dean probably could though.”

She nodded, and waited for him to fill the silence.

He focused on the kid to keep from having to meet her eyes, “My first crush was Rio, she was a manager for a wrestler.”

“Any more to that story?” She asked.

“Nothing I want to tell,” he admitted, “no there was nothing there, I was like 9 maybe 10 at the time, we actually ran into her on a case last year.”

Mary was smiling, it was good to see it. “You don't have to try so hard,” he said, “I mean if you want to talk, I know what it's like to come back and feel like you don't fit. I don't expect you to just fall back into this parental role, because you feel like you're suppose to.”

The smile faded, “I don't want to talk about that,” she said her hand ran nervously down her thigh. “I mean it's a lot to take in.” She stopped and her head tilted in a way that reminded him weirdly of Cas.

“What do you mean you know what it's like?”

“Hell at this point I've practically lost count,” he lied joking.

'No wonder you like Poe.” she said gesturing at the book.

“It was here.” he said.

“How...” she looked like she was thinking better of it though and looked away, “how did you die?”

“The first time was a knife in the back.”

“How did you come back?” She asked, “God's sister bring you back to?”

He laughed, “no, she wasn't around then, but you know my brother doesn't take no for an answer.”

“Dean?” She looked disturbed, “how did he do it?”

“It doesn't matter. It's over,” He searched for something to deflect the conversation away from their lives and the things they'd done, he didn't know that he'd ever be able to explain how much of his and Dean's lives were mixed up in death and resurrections, and in losses that never healed.

“Dean made a deal, didn't he?” She cut to the point.

“No,” he blurted out too quickly.

“It tracks,” she said, “I made a deal for John, John made a deal for Dean, Dean made a deal for you,” she looked up at him almost daring him to argue it, “How did you save him?” she asked, then looked like she didn't want to know.

“I didn't.” he told the floor beside him, “I tried, I was going to walk into hell myself to get him if that's what it took, but I wasn't strong enough.” He swallowed the rest of the explanation, “Cas pulled him out.”

“Your Cas?” She asked looking amused, “the Angel?”

“He's not an angel now,” Sam reminded her.

“He's still an angel, being human doesn't change what he is,” she argued, “I watched him rip the grace out of his body just so that he could get to you. I watched his anger and agony at losing you, and how he was ready to tear apart anyone that got between him and you, I know how that feels because I lost John all over again, I'd tear the world apart to get him back, but I can't.”

“I know,” he said.

“You can't know until you've lost someone.” She said, then her hand covered her mouth, and an agonized sob slipped past it.

He put a hand on her arm, the closest he could get to a comforting gesture from where he was. She got it under control quickly and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. “who did you lose?” She asked trying to change the subject back to him.

“There was a girl,” he said, “I was going to ask her to marry me, but she was taken from me, the same demon that took you from us got her, because I wasn't there to protect her,” it was his turn to fight back the tears, “I tried to get out, but this life, once you're in you don't get out, we both know that, you tried to get out, look how that turned out.”

“I caused this,” she said at last, “if it was the same demon, then he came for you because of me.”

“It's not your fault.” he said.

“Don't be stupid,” the words were a hiss of breath, “I don't need coddled, I'm a hunter, and making deals only leads to death and pain. I knew that I was going to die young, I thought that if I could save John, if I could give him something, then when it happened, whatever happened, it'd be worth it, just to have any kind of life with him.”

She shook her head like she was shaking off her thoughts, “I'm sorry, I shouldn't burden you with this.”

“I've had worse,” he said, “besides, it's good that you're not too perfect, it's easier to believe this is real. If it wasn't a mess, it wouldn't be my life.” he pulled his hand back self consciously feeling like he'd given too much.

“I mean you, and Dean being alive, and Cas, if I didn't know better I'd think,” he stopped the rest of the sentence just behind his teeth. “well, it doesn't matter, you're here now right? That's what matters, it's good.”

“I'm here,” she said, her eyes drifted from him to the baby, “you have a magic touch, he stopped crying.”

“yeah,” Sam said, not wanting her to notice that he wasn't okay, he needed to get away from her, to clear his head.

“Sam, are you okay?” she asked.

“I'm good,” he said, “this is just a lots happened.”

“Yeah,” She agreed, then forced a smile, “okay let's talk about Led Zeppelin.”

“Seriously? Dean's the one you want to talk to about that.”

“No I want to talk to you, Dean knows the story, you don't, and I haven't got to tell it, so listen to your mother.”

“Okay,” he conceded, “tell me your story.”

“Good,” she smiled, took a minute and started talking. He listened to her recount of meeting a marine, and discussing rock music with him. “so you decided to date dad because of a rock band?”

“No I decided to date him because my dad didn't want me to. I did decide to marry him because he took me to a Led Zeppelin concert for valentines day.”

“I didn't think they'd have gone to Kansas on a tour.”

“They didn't.” she said smirking slightly, “but they did a show in Saint Louis, on the 16th. It was a Sunday, and it was probably the most fun that I had ever had. He borrowed a car, and I slipped out a window, we spent the entire weekend before the concert in a damn motel room. The cheapest that we could afford. And we found this diner, that made the best hamburgers I've ever had. It was called Conner's Diner. We got a corner booth and spent almost all day before the concert there because we didn't have anywhere else to go. It was like twenty something degrees out, we planned on sight seeing, but as soon as we got somewhere warm, we just stayed there and talked all day, until we had to go to the concert. he was like a kid, he was so excited and happy, and I just knew that I was going to have to marry him.”

It was a good story, and he smiled despite his doubts about how accurate it was, “How did he propose?” he asked.

“He didn't.” She said smiling, “I told him it was happening, and he said, “Yes Ma'am,” and that was the end of the discussion."

He couldn't imagine his dad taking orders. She didn't know the hunter though, so maybe it was different then. “I'll take him, you go on to bed, I don't think I'd be able to sleep anyways.”

He shifted the child into her waiting arms, and searched for something to say, some way to bridge the gap that was still between them.

He settled on, “thanks for the talk.”

She smiled, “See you in the morning?”

“Yeah,” he stood awkwardly, “good night.” He bit the word mom off the end, barely stopping himself from spitting it out.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Sam walked away from her, careful not to look back, he felt like if he did he'd have to watch her disappear. He needed to get out. The illusion should shatter if he got far enough out of it, but if it shattered, where would that leave him?

He walked out of the bunker and started walking, the air was cold, his breath rose into a clear night sky above him, and he let himself look for some flaw in the sky that would verify that it was just another trick His thumb nail cut in between the stitches on his palm. Felt the flare of pain that was almost distant. It couldn't be real, no matter how much he wanted it to be. How far away could he get if he just started walking down the road? How long before the illusion would shatter or he'd find himself either back in the basement or back in the bunker?

He didn't want to walk though, he hurt and he was tired, and now that he was outside he was cold. Realizing it made him feel like he was probably already coming out of the grasp of whatever spell had pulled his perfect dream life out of his head. If it was fading, if it was going to be over soon he wanted to hold onto the dream just a little longer before the pain restarted. Before She found another way to try to break him.

He walked back to his room each jarring step hurt, he wanted to think that it was real, that it wasn't just him becoming aware of how much it actually hurt. Cas was asleep in his bed and he couldn't wake him up, but he watched him sleep.

A lifetime of habit made him want to pray. He couldn't know for sure that Chuck was even still out there, the same lifetime of habit told him he probably wouldn't answer anyways. But he found the words pass his lips in a whisper, “Please, just let me stay here.” It didn't matter what was going on outside his mind, it didn't matter what she did to him, he'd keep his secrets even from the people he loved, but he had nothing left, nothing to give and nothing to lose and it'd just be a matter of time before she tried something that would actually kill him.

He just had to wait, but if he could choose to stay in this dream, then it was the one that he would choose. The one where he had Dean and his mother, and Cas and was safe at home. It was the best that he could ever hope for.

The annoying voice of reason whispered _how can you stay when you know it's not real._ He had to find a way out, both of the illusion, and of the basement beyond it. He knew with a kind of abstract certainty that if he didn't find a way out he'd die. He was pretty sure he was already dying.

Cas shifted in his sleep, moving closer to the center of the bed, closer to where Sam was suppose to be.

He felt faced with the weight of the choice, did he cross the space between them and give in to the dream, or did he fight to find a way out of it.

It was too late, he knew it wasn't real, he couldn't keep pretending that he didn't know. Cas shifted again, his eyes fluttered open slowly and he looked dazed. He glanced around the room before his eyes settled on Sam. His head tilted slightly, “Sam, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” He lied easily, “I'm fine.” Because it's what he would do if he was okay he made his way to the bed and sat down on the edge of it.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said searching for the words to make him understand, “You were looking for me?”

“Of course,” he said, “I should have never let you get taken, I'm sorry Sam.”

“No, it's not your fault, I just wanted to know, that you're still here, I mean that no matter what else, you won't give up on me.”

“Sam,” Cas voice was soft and concerned, “what happened?”

“Nothing, this is perfect.” then he added, “but I don't think it's real. How could it be? How could an angel like you be with a freak like me?”

“That's not true,” Cas said softly, “you've made mistakes, we all have, but you try unwavering to do the right thing.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “but you see how that's turned out.”

“The world is still spinning because of you,” Cas said, “and Dean.”

“You've helped.” Sam reminded him, “you've been right there with us on the front lines, doing the things that needed done that we weren't willing to do.”

Cas smiled at him, a sleepy look that was lost in a yawn. “Are you coming to bed?”

Sam crawled under the blankets with Cas. “Roll over,” he ordered, and as soon as Cas complied he pulled him close pressing against his back, letting himself give over to the touch of skin against his own. His lips pressed against Cas ear, “you know I wondered, how it was possible for you to want me, how I had missed something that big.” His hand dragged up Cas' stomach, pressed against his neck. Cas tensed slightly, a surprised noise pulled from his throat, “maybe, I didn't quite squeeze hard enough before.”

“Sam?” Cas choked out his name in a gasp. His hand wrapped around Sam's wrist and pulled just a little, “stop.”

Sam's fingers found the frantic pulse point and pressed just a little there, “I'm talking now, that's what you wanted isn't it?”

There wasn't an answer. The hard jerk of the hand holding his wrist almost broke his grip but not quite, “You can't win.” He said, “you can hurt me, you can rape me, you can give me everything that I've ever wanted and take it away, but you won't break me, I won't tell you anything, not now not ever.”

The body trapped beneath his weight went still, in the next moment there was the sharp pain of an elbow connecting solidly against his chest. The flare of pain was bright and instant and so real he wondered what she hit him with. If it was just a mental game or if she was combining her techniques.

Cas managed to twist just enough to make him loosen his grip. Before Sam could replace his hold he screamed, “Dean!”

It wasn't right. It didn't make sense and for a fraction of a second he doubted himself. The door burst open and Dean had a grip on his arm, twisting it to the point he had to let go or risk breaking his wrist. As soon as his hand opened Cas jumped out of his reach and scrambled off the bed.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“What the hell?” Dean demanded, “Sam, are you okay?”

“No!” he screamed, and heard his own voice echo down the hall outside his room, “I'm not okay, you're dead, and mom is dead, and I don't know where Cas is, but I have to get out of here.”

“Sam, look at me.” Dean ordered, “I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. Just one step at a time little brother, I need you to trust me, this is real.”

“I can't know that,” Sam argued, “You don't know what she did to me, I can't know that any of this is real.”

“Okay, well Cas is going to vacate,” Dean ordered, “and we're going to talk, just me and you, just like always.”

“I'd rather stay here,” Cas argued.

“He just tried to strangle you,” Dean reminded him, “and you're going to stay? No, because I need you out of here. I don't know what you did to him, but something set him off, so go back to your room, or go to mine, I don't care, but you need to stay away from him, until I figure out what the hell is going on.”

Sam dug his nails into his palm and willed them both to just go away, so he could wake up and not have to live in the lie anymore. Cas must have given in to the silent command, because he nodded once then walked out glancing briefly over his shoulder as he disappeared into the hall.

“Sammy,” Dean was moving toward him, pleading his hands up, “look, it's just me okay, whatever you think is going on it's not. You're safe. You're at home, with me and Cas, and mom. You have to believe me here.”

“I can't,” Sam said, “I wish I could just believe you because you want me to, but I can't. Not after last time.” He remembered being so sure that something was wrong when he was losing time, and when things weren't making sense and Dean had let him think that he was going crazy rather than tell him that he was being possessed.

“I thought we were past that.” Dean bit out, “I thought we were over that with the whole demon thing”

“We are, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to believe anything is real just because you say it is, especially when you're suppose to be dead, and I don't even know if you really are you.”

Dean moved fast, pulling Sam toward him his hands tangled in Sam's hair and he pulled him down into a hug, “you can feel that I'm real,” he argued, “right here with you brother.” Sam wanted to give in and just go with it, to let himself trust in the image of Dean even if he didn't believe him.

“I can't,” he whispered, but he held on tighter, tried to get past the certainty that it was all just another trick and let himself believe that it was real.

“Okay,” Dean said against his cheek, “okay, just listen, you don't have to trust me, just don't do anything stupid until you do, you hear me? Just get through tonight without killing anyone and we'll work on getting you to believe you're actually home tomorrow.”

Dean kept talking, even though there was nothing he could say that would convince Sam of his reality. “I've got you,” he whispered over and over, his hands stroked down what he could reach of Sam's back and it would have been so nice to just give in and believe it was true, and that Dean had managed to live, and that by some miracle of chance the thing that was suppose to be destroying the world had actually relented and brought their mother back, and that against the odds Cas wanted something more from him than just his Netflix password. It'd be nice to let that dream take him over completely and lose himself in it, but he needed to stay aware enough to find a way out, to find a way to save himself. He couldn't do that if he let himself be trapped inside his own mind.

“It's okay,” Dean repeated, “you don't have to worry about believing me right now, you just have to calm down.”

He let his grip loosen.

“Are you hurting?” Dean asked, “did something happen?”

“Don't be stupid,” Sam whispered, “everything hurts, but that's nothing new.”

Dean nodded and grabbed Sam's wrist, “you tore your hand open again,” he said, “you keep doing this, you're going to fuck up your hand.”

Sam didn't think it was likely, but he didn't argue, just let Dean guide him back to the bed, “I'm going to fix this, I promise, just don't fall apart on me until I do. I'm not going to let anything else happen to you.”

“That's worked great so far,” Sam said.

“You're a magnet for trouble,” Dean said, a tense but playful smile quirking his lips, “just sit tight okay little brother? No running off, I'll be right back.”

Dean didn't wait for an answer, Sam didn't have anything to say to him anyways. He looked down at the jagged cut across his hand, short and imperfect, but it had done the job. Now he wasn't so sure, it played real, and he couldn't find any gaps that would make it obvious his mind was being messed with. But he wasn't sure he'd be able to tell anymore.

Cas cleared his throat, and Sam was surprised to see that he'd come back. Sam didn't want to meet his eyes and see that if this had been real he'd just destroyed whatever they could have had. _It's not real._ His mind screamed at him so instead of speaking he waited to see what Cas would say.

“You're not okay,” Cas said after a few tense moments.

Sam couldn't stop the snort of amusement, “that obvious huh?”

“No, it's really not, you've been hiding it well. and I'm still bad with people, but I have a few books on trauma floating around in the stuff Metatron put in my head,” he paused searching for words, “I can't make this any easier, but I promise I will do everything in my power not to make it worse.”

Dean pushed past Cas into the room before Sam could answer and sat down next to him on the bed. It was with sure fingers and a lifetime of practice that he cleaned and bandaged his bloodied hand. There weren't words between them. Dean kept his eyes on the task probably just so he wouldn't have to look at Sam. Sam himself was completely okay with that. “I'm fine Dean.” He said when Dean hesitated to walk away after he was done.

“What do you need me to do?” Dean asked, “I can't make you believe me, I can't fix whatever is broken in you, all I can do is put a band aid on your fucking hand and pretend everything is normal until what, next time you actually to manage to strangle your boyfriend to death?”

“He's not my boyfriend,” Sam whispered, his face stung with embarrassment, “it's not real.” He closed his eyes and willed Dean to go away, willed Cas to go away, just wanted to be alone. Or to wake up and see the dim basement instead of going on this way. The bed shifted when Dean stood up, but he didn't leave.

“This was a win,” Dean said to himself, “We saved the world and got mom back, and the bad guys are dead in an abandoned house, and sure Cas is human, and that sucks, but we won, and I don't know how to fix this, just give me a chance okay, we'll figure it out.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Dean left, it was only a matter of time until he did, but somehow it was worse without him in the room. Cas went with him, and the room was quiet. The only sound was the fan spinning above him. Sam stared at the wall willing himself to sleep. Through the doorway he could hear movement. The light steps that were Mary, the heavier ones that were Dean. He didn't hear Cas. Though whether that was because Cas had taken up residence in his own room for the night or had just left all together he didn't want to know. It was late, and he was too tired to keep trying to sort it all out. He had just fallen asleep when there was movement behind him.

“Watching you fall apart has always been fun.” Lucifer sighed settling into the chair next to the bed.

“You're not real.” Sam repeated, he knew it was just another illusion, but the last one had almost killed him. “You're dead.”

“You think so?” He laughed, “I don't feel very dead. I mean really Sam, who else would it be? Who else knows exactly which buttons to press, to break you?”

“Dean!” Sam's voice shook, but he needed him there, needed the proof.

“Why bother? You know he's dead, he can't hear you Sammy, like your Mommy's dead, and Daddy, and Castiel, they're all maggot food. But you, did you really think you could get away from me forever?”

Sam managed to get a grip on the gun beneath the pillow. Three sharp raps of gunfire woke him from his nightmare. His ears rang with the sound of the bullets that had embedded themselves in the wall by the door.

“Jesus Christ!” Dean yelped coming through the door. Sam swung the gun toward him. “What the hell was that?”

Sam couldn't answer him, he dropped the gun onto the bed. It was just an nightmare, just another trick mind was playing on him. But it didn't stop the way his heart was pounding.

Dean grabbed the gun and unloaded it. The shells fell onto the bedroom floor in a tinkling of metal casings. “Tell me you just decided the wall would look better with decorative bullet holes.” Dean begged.

Sam shook his head, tears rolled from his eyes, he couldn't stop them, it was like a damn switch had been flipped, he watched a wet spot form where they hit the blanket and waited for Dean to leave again. His hand was warm on Sam's shoulder.

“Talk to me. Tell me what you saw.” he urged.

“Lucifer,” he whispered at last.

“Lucifer's dead.” Dean reminded him.

“So are you.” Sam repeated.

“Earlier in the house, the demon's eyes were yellow.”

“They were black. You know, that they, uh, they didn't switch colors, they were only black.”

Sam nodded, he'd never heard of a demon's eyes switching colors, and the only one they'd ever seen with yellow eyes was Azazel. “I know, he's dead to.” He didn't want to give Dean any details, if it wasn't Dean anyways then it might not make a difference, but if it was real, the less he knew the better.“She drugged me.” He said at last, “more than once, stuff to cause hallucinations, stuff to make me see what she wanted, and uh, feel what she wanted me to feel.” he was still crying he realized, his head was clogged with snot.

“Okay, so what? You think it's not completely worn off yet, or something else?” Dean asked, “I mean if you're seeing shit again, we have bigger problems.”

“I don't know,” He tried to find an explanation for the part that was scaring him the most, “it's like it's getting worse not better.”

Dean glanced around the room, “okay, we can fix this, we'll figure out what she gave you and we'll figure out how to fix this.” he drug his hand over his face roughly, “are you seeing anything right now?”

“Just you,” Sam whispered to the blanket.

Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed pressing against the bandage there, just shy of hard enough to make it bleed again, “I'm here Sammy, I promise, I'm real, and we're going to get through this, just like everything else.”

Sam squeezed back, wanting so badly to give in and let himself believe in Dean. “Okay.” he gave in and let Dean hug him. He noticed Mary had come to the doorway but hadn't came in. She was watching them like she wasn't sure if she should walk in or walk away. He closed his eyes and held on to Dean a little tighter. He was warm and solid and felt real. He was almost positive that he was, almost as sure of the reality of him, as he'd been sure Mary wasn't when they were talking earlier. It just felt like Dean, and the tighter he held on the more sure he was that it was really his brother, and not a trick. Relief flooded through him.

The relief brought the memory of his hand wrapped around Cas' neck. He let go of Dean and let him pull away, “where's Cas?”

“Cas is fine.” Dean said, “Just needed some fresh air.”

“He left.” Obviously he'd left. It was safer than staying. He didn't want to hurt him, so it was probably better that he left, knowing he'd pushed him to the point of walking out the door without a word was painful.

Dean sat down on the bed next to him. “Cas will be back. He's not leaving you.”

“You don't have to try and make me feel better about it. I tried to kill him.”

“No, you didn't.” Dean picked up the gun holding by the grip with two fingers, letting it dangle between them, “if you'd been trying to kill him, he'd be dead.”

He didn't tell Dean that he wasn't sure the gun would work, because he wasn't sure the gun was real. That would probably make him more concerned instead of less. “You don't know that.” Sam ran his hand through his hair.

“How about this, you just pretend for five seconds that you trust me, and trust me when I tell you that you are safe, and if you need to kill someone, I'll make sure you know.”

It was stupid, Sam shook his head, “Dean that's not the way this works.”

“Says who?” He asked, “since when are there experts for shit like this? So listen, you don't think I'm real fucking great, so just how about you just don't kill anyone regardless of whether or not you think they're real? I mean Cas will stay in his room, and no one will bother you.”

“I'm staying here.” Cas walked into the room, “and I brought someone who has answers.”

“You brought someone to the secret underground bunker?” Mary asked, “that's not very secretive.”

“He already knows where the bunker is. Besides, I wouldn't call him a friend, but he has his uses.” He looked at Dean, “Crowley he has answers, to the demon and the child Mary rescued, and to what's wrong with Sam.”

“Nothing's wrong with Sam.” Dean growled.

“I have to respectfully disagree,” he looked offended, “pretending that nothing is wrong is not going to help him.”

“Guys, I am right here.” Sam tried to joke. He had to agree though, he felt like something was seriously wrong with him.

“We should discuss this in the library,” Cas said, “Crowley is waiting there.”

“You brought Crowley?” Dean looked murderous, he stood up and for a second Sam thought that maybe he was going to take a swing at him.

“Yes, I brought Crowley, he is the one person who might be able to tell us why a demon was collecting the ghosts of children, especially since most demons collect souls for hell, not to make a haunted house, and he is the one person who is still looking for Lucifer, he wants help with that, and is asking for help finding our common enemy.” Cas took a step forward into Dean's face. “I am not apologizing for hurting your pride. This is more important.”

“Fine,” Dean growled it like a blow, “but this blows up, in your face it's on you.”

“I understand.” Cas's smile was a soft pleased look, “I would like a moment alone with Sam.” He said looking at Sam rather than Dean.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Dean tried to stop him.

“It's okay Dean,” Sam looked toward the door, “you can go, make sure Crowley doesn't touch anything, we'll be right there.”

Dean went his fist clenched by his side. Sam thought he was as likely to punch Crowley when he saw him as anything, but that wasn't Sam's problem.

“You sure you're okay?' Mary asked.

He nodded avoiding her eyes, even if he wasn't. She would never be the person he told his secrets to. She accepted his answer, smiled at him, her eyes looked lined and sad. She looked older than she was he realized. She followed Dean and he let himself stop thinking about her, and worry about what Cas had to say to him.

“I'm sorry, I understand if you've changed your mind,” he wanted to make ending it easier for Cas.

“I haven't.” Cas reassured him, “I wanted to tell you, that I didn't tell Crowley anything. He doesn't know any thing about what happened.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Sam didn't know exactly why Cas needed to make sure he knew that. It wasn't like it would matter either way.

 


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as Sam walked into the library Dean and Crowley quit talking. Mary was sitting at the table, nervously tapping her fingers on the wooden table top. Sam stood beside her making sure he was as close to between her and the Demon as he could get without climbing on the table.

“Moose! Glad you could join us.” Crowley looked as pleased as he sounded. “Okay now that you're here, we can get on with this, first thing.” He pulled something out of his coat and placed it on the table. His hand hid it from view while he said, “it's incredibly dangerous spell work.”

Sam stopped breathing for half a second when Crowley pulled his hand away. Laying on the table as if it'd been there all along was one of the syringes he'd seen on Toni's table of evil implements. Cas hand pressed against the small of his back.

Crowley looked at Cas, “a proper version of the spell is dangerous enough, let's the caster have complete control of their victim, based loosely on dream root spells, but with more control. Most dream spells the victim is still themselves caught in whatever the person in control of the dream wants them to see. This lets gives the caster control over what the victim thinks and feels as well. Of course that's a proper version of the spell. This one is much less well constructed.”

“And this specific instance?' Cas asked looking at the table, but his hand on Sam's back continued softly stroking.

“Much less stable, it'd be as likely to melt someone's brain as anything else.” Crowley stopped looking at Cas and was looking instead at Sam. Sam felt the rising annoyance he always felt when they had to deal with Crowley. The demon smirked, “Well, really this is an interesting twist. You're looking pale Samantha, almost like you saw a ghost.”

“Back to the spell smart ass, what's it do.” Dean asked.

“You want those details you're asking the wrong person, only two people would really know specifically what it was used for, the person that used it,” he met Sam's eyes like an accusation, “and the person it was used on.”

He turned to face Dean, the smug look remaining, “You're wanting to know about the side effects? That's what's really got your panties twisted? Why don't you just ask Sam.”

“I'm asking you.” Dean said crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the table.

“Fine,” Crowley gave in easily, “if you manage to break the mind control itself, there's the problem this stuff is suppose to last, the side effects will linger far longer than most drugs.”

“What kind of side effects.” Dean demanded.

“Hallucinations,” he started, “this stuff is meant to affect a person's perception of reality. Even without the mind control aspects, it's still a powerful spell.”

He put one hand in his pocket, “then there's also going to be especially vivid dreams. Nightmares really, but they'll feel real.” He looked at Sam. “you might not be able to tell if you're awake or not until you do wake up, and even then, with the hallucinations it might be hard to know for sure.”

“Then of course there's the emotional aspect, whatever emotions the caster wanted you to feel with the spell may linger, fear, anger, paranoia, anxiety, whatever the theme of the illusion will be harder to distinguish real feelings from manufactured ones.” He smiled, “but really with your life, how would you even be able to tell? Isn't all that normal for you?”

“One more question,” Dean demanded.

“I live to answer your questions,” Crowley quipped, when Dean didn't immediately ask he threw his arms wide, “well?”

“How long before it wears off?”

“Do I look psychic to you.”

“Just answer the question.” Dean said.

“I don't know.” He growled frustrated at Dean, “could be weeks, could be months, could be never.” Sam took it in stride, it wasn't like he didn't expect it, it wasn't like he didn't know that he was completely fucked up.

“Let's talk about the other baby,” Crowley said, “You sure it was a demon.”

“If I wasn't sure do you think I'd be calling you about it.”

“Bollocks,” Crowley said, “go back over it, you said it had claws? None of those have been seen in years.”

“Get to the point,” Sam said tired of listening to him talk, “why was it taking kids.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said.

“Seriously? You're going to play it that way?” Dean asked, “just pretend you don't know anything.”

“I don't know anything about this, but I'll look into it.”

“Do that,” Dean put on his best serial killer smile. The look that always said he would really enjoy killing Crowley slowly, “while you're at it, I need you to find a family, one of the kids was still alive.”

The conversation around him but Sam couldn't focus on it. Too busy running over the things that Crowley had confirmed. Somehow it made it easier to believe that he'd be okay hearing how bad it was suppose to be. It was nothing he hadn't dealt with before.

He missed the end of the conversation, but was relieved when Crowley finally left, walking out the front door in a huff of indignation and bitchy compliance.

Sam went back to his room after the demon left. Cas followed him quietly as if knowing that Sam might never be okay was more than he could process. The former angel was the closest friend that he had and Sam couldn't bring himself to tell him any of the things that were running through his head.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked softly.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Sam didn't look at him but heard Cas sat down on the bed like he intended to stay. “Are you sure you want to be in here with me?” He joked, half serious.

“Of course,” Cas held out his hand, “come here.”

Sam sat down on his side of the bed and felt all weighted down by his own thoughts. He needed to figure out what he was going to do now. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at the floor beneath his feet. It seemed solid enough. He closed his eyes and willed himself to believe he was home and he was safe. He might never know for sure. It was better to let himself try to believe it was real, then to risk hurting Cas.

“I'm sorry,” Sam started to say before he had found the courage to look up.

A hand rested on his back, “It's not your fault,” Cas whispered, “but, I forgive you anyways.” the bed shifted under cas weight when moved closer and grabbed Sam's hand locking their fingers together, “I wish you could forgive yourself.”

Sam smiled to show that he was okay.

“Can I kiss you?” Cas asked the low rumble of his voice poured over Sam's ears and he was leaning into answer the question with action. If possible it was better to kiss him in the quiet of Sam's bedroom. He chased after the taste of his angel's lips, and wondered at the experience. Even if it wasn't real, it was something that he didn't ever want to have to give up. If it was real, he didn't want to risk hurting Cas again because of his own self doubts.

The sane rational part of him that was screaming for him to end it quickly before something worse could happen was drowned out by the low pleased sound that came from Cas two seconds before he pulled away.

Cas moved away from him, leaving a ache in his absence. Sam followed him when Cas leaned up against the head of the bed Sam followed covering Cas with his weight while pressing more desperate kisses against his lips. Hoping against all reason that it could last.

Cas tangled a hand in his hair and pulled him down as roughly and demanding as Sam was taking. He tried to keep the image strong in his mind, even when he remembered a smaller form beneath him. It was Cas he was with. His breath came out in a harsh sound against Cas lips. The harder he tried to not think about her, to not think about the last time that he had found himself in bed with someone it had been another trick. Another form of torture. He rolled his hips down pressing his cock against the hard line of Cas's. He needed something more, needed to bury the thoughts he couldn't escape. He was good at it, had a life time of experience at it. It didn't seem to help. He threw himself into dragging the little sighs and moans out of his angel. Trying to use the symphony of his pleasure as an anchor to the world he was desperately trying to believe in.

Cas went still beneath him. Sam didn't know what he'd done, but he felt the press of Cas hand against his chest and he raised up searching for the answer to questions he was too afraid to ask. A hand found its way into his hair tangling and petting and some desperate attempt to be soothing. He was pulled down until he was laying on the angel's chest. Lips pressed lightly against his forehead. Cas whispered “You don't have to prove anything to me.”

“I'm not.” Sam said not able to explain that it was to himself and not to Cas that he was trying to prove this was real, and not some drug induced hallucination or some fevered dream from his mind finally breaking.

Cas's thumb ran over his cheek and came away wet. Sam hadn't even realized his eyes had been watering. He could feel it now though, the ache in his tear ducts and the dryness at the back of his throat. He closed his eyes and willed himself to just die and be done with it.

Cas sighed a heartbroken sound, “What did they do to you?” He asked rhetorically.

Sam shrugged, his breathing caught on a involuntary sob. He had to get control of his racing thoughts and twisted up emotions. He needed to be okay and if he gave into it, he didn't think that he would ever be okay again.

The hands stroking over his shoulder's didn't stop and he wished that he could just narrow all his awareness down to that one touch. The question hung in the air though, and even without saying the answer it hovered in his mind, begging him to give it voice and admit to his own weakness. How he had broken, how he had been willing to believe that he'd wanted her.

The silence stretched on for a while, the things unspoken ran through his mind and how did he put a voice to all the ways that he had failed to be as strong as he should have been. Cas voice broke through his thoughts, but he didn't catch the words beyond the comforting cadence of his voice.

“What?”

“You can talk to me.” Cas said, though whether or not that was what he had said the first time Sam couldn't have said, “I want to help you. Just tell me what you need from me.”

“I don't know, he then sighed, “you want to know what they did to me? Nothing that hasn't been done before.”

Cas didn't say anything letting Sam decide for himself how he wanted to proceed. “They tortured me,” he said, “or they tried. They used water, fire, electricity, drugs, they beat him and shocked me, and did everything they could think of.” He smiled satisfied at how they had failed to get what they wanted time and time again. He'd been hurt, and tired, and more scared than he wanted to admit, but he'd gotten through it. Cas made a soft sound of encouragement his fingers lazily tracing patterns against Sam's back.

The last thing though, he couldn't bring himself to say over the roaring in his ears. He wondered if Cas could hear it or if it was one of the hallucinations, the last present from the bitch. He didn't have to tell him, didn't have to bare that last secret. Cas didn't push him though, just listened to whatever he had to say, and he owed him the truth. Owed him that much if he couldn't offer anything else.

The words tripped past his tongue. Falling over each other in a way that was almost easy. “She raped me.” The roaring in his ears died down and he could hear that the slow careful way that Cas was breathing.

Sam wanted to talk, and feel up that silence between them but he couldn't make the words come. It was like those three words tore out every other word he could have said. Left him drained empty and not sure how to move forward.

He hadn't realized Cas's hands had stopped moving until he started again. “Say something.” Sam demanded.

“okay, I'm not surprised,” Cas voice was a thin sound stretched over the words. “Humans have been using sex for violence as long as they've been using their fists.”

Sam didn't say anything for a while, caught on the word violence. “It wasn't violent.” he said quietly. “It's not like she hurt me. Hell at the time I was enjoying it, before I realized that it was a trick.”

Cas moved shifting so that Sam got the message and rolled off of him. Instead of looking at Cas he looked at the ceiling fan circling lazily above them.

“And after? When you found out that it was a trick?” Cas leaned over him and brushed Sam's hair out of his face. The blue eyes were staring through him, inviting him to let this one more thing go.

“Sick,” he whispered, “I let her convince me that I wanted her. I let myself believe the lie. I should have known, I should have remembered the truth that it was a manipulation, but I didn't.”

“You couldn't have done anything to stop her.” Cas said gently, “she was literally using drugs and magic to make you think, feel and see what she wanted you to see, it's not a weakness to be taken advantage of.”

“Then why am I so fucked up over this? it's not the worse thing that's ever happened. Hell it wasn't even that bad, not compared to what it could have been.”

“You need to stop doing that,” Cas told him, “minimizing it, saying it wasn't that bad, or it wasn't as bad as it could have been, is not helping you.”

Cas outburst surprised him, “but it's true.”

“How bad does something have to be, before you'll let yourself admit that it was bad, and that you were hurt?”

“It doesn't change anything,” Sam tried to make him understand, “Thinking about it, and being messed up over it doesn't make the bad stuff go away.”

“There's a difference in acknowledging and wallowing. You think you're doing the second, I'm asking you to do the first, and you're avoiding dealing with what happened.”

“I don't know what you want from me,” Sam wasn't entirely sure that was true, he was getting a feeling he knew what Cas was asking from him.

“I want you to at least admit to yourself that you're not okay.”

“I'm fine,” Sam whispered.

“You're lying,” Cas growled back. He pulled away from Sam and stood next to the bed looking down at him like he was passing some kind of judgment. Wherever her thought he was going he changed his mind and sat back down. His back was turned toward Sam making it a lot harder to read what he was feeling. Cas wasn't exactly an open book anyways.

It was maybe impulse or stupidity, but Sam moved toward him, curving his body into the space around his back. His hand roamed down the outside of Cas thigh, he gave just a little, letting himself believe Cas, and believe in him.

“Okay,” He said at last, “you're right, I'm not okay.”

When Cas didn't answer he continued picking the words carefully, “I'm terrified.” It wasn't until he had said it that he realized how true it was. Those two words were the most true thing he'd ever said. “I'm not okay, and I know it, I keep thinking that at any minute this spell's going to end, and I'm going to wake up back in that basement. I'm afraid that what I'm feeling isn't real. That it's a manipulation another form of torture, I'm afraid that if I let myself be happy for even a minute just to have you here where I can touch you, and feel you, and kiss you, then the spell's going to end, and I'm going to lose all of this. If none of this is real...” He let the words trail off, chocked down the burn of a sob in the back of his throat, “I won't survive that. I can't lose you. I can't lose Dean again, and I can't lose mom, even if she doesn't need me, I still need her.”

Cas sighed his name, a heartbroken sound. “I can't convince you this is real. You're going to have to make the choice to either believe me or not. That's up to you, but I'll be right here, no matter what you choose to believe, for as long as you want me.”

“I want you,” Sam said quickly,

“You have me.” Cas told him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He tried to explain which point had him stuck and afraid to move forward. “No, that's not what I mean,” he said.

“This is about sex?” Cas asked linking his fingers into Sam's like he expected him to pull away.

Was it about sex? He wanted Cas, he just didn't believe that Cas could want him back. It was about more than just sex. “Kind of,” he answered carefully.”but it's only partially about sex.”

Cas turned on the bed to face him more fully. His fingertips found the hair at Sam's temple and stroked over it like it was something precious. “do you want to have sex?” Cas asked bluntly

“Jesus Cas.” he said blushing against the the pillow he was trying to hide his face in.

“It's a safe assumption at some point if the relationship continues sex will be something we talk about.”

“Not right now,” Sam said.

Cas seemed to be picking his words with equal care now, “You and Dean have both had countless casual partners.”

“Hey! not that many,” he defended himself, not sure the exact number himself, but he wasn't sure yet what Cas was accusing him of.

“My point is, before what happened to you, sex wasn't a problem.”

“It's not a problem.” Sam said, feeling like he could die to never have to figure out how this mortifying conversation ends.

“Shut up,” Cas ordered and Sam was surprised into silence, “You are not okay, we both know it, given the nature of the assault, it's not surprising. But this is twice now that we have gotten close and you've pulled away.”

“I'm sorry,” Sam reflexively apologized.

Cas made a frustrated sound, “this isn't about me.” He stared at Sam like he could see into his head and see how twisted and fucked up he was. “you don't think I noticed before that you immediately focused entirely on me, and didn't want to be touched, or that you left the first chance that presented itself. Dean didn't need us at that hospital. You would have rather been there than continue what we were doing.”

Sam couldn't meet his eyes, that hadn't been his intention.

Cas didn't need his input. His fingers on Sam's shoulder tightened “I told you already you don't have to prove anything to me. So what are you trying to prove to yourself? Forcing yourself to do something because you think I want to isn't what I want from you.”

The words settled between them, heavy and making Sam feel small in comparison. He felt embarrassed and upset, but not anger, Cas was trying to help him. “I wasn't trying to prove anything.”

Cas stared at him for a while, Sam tried not to fidget, but eventually gave up and asked, “what, just say it.”

“I have been around for a very long time. I want to be with you. I want to be there for the things that make you happy, I want to comfort you when you hurt, I want to watch movies with you and talk about books. I want to be able to kiss you and I want to be able to hold your hand.” Sam found himself smiling slightly at the words. “Humans place an undo importance on intercourse in a relationship.” He smiled, “I have gone millenia without having sex. If it's going to cause you distress I'm okay with never having sex again.”

Sam let the words settle between them. Let what Cas had offered fill him mind with a possibility that he'd almost given up on. Someone he could be happy with and have more than just a few short hours with. _I don't want to be broken._ That was the problem with Cas' words, they made him feel like he'd failed. Like she'd manage to break him, and that wasn't okay, he couldn't let her have that kind of power.

“Healing takes time.” Cas said softly, almost like Sam had said the words out loud, “whether you want to admit it or not. You're not ready.”

“Will you please stop talking,” Sam begged.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Crowley was back in the bunker. It was a like having a headache that just wouldn't go away. Sam held back and let Dean deal with the demon his hands itched to get around it's throat. He imagined what it'd be like to just be able to kill him with a thought.

Crowley turned toward him abruptly, “how's the hallucinations? Getting better yet?”

Sam's fist balled by his side ready to swing at him.

“Come on Moose, I'm only teasing.” he turned away like he didn't know Sam was thinking about taking his head off. He held up a piece of paper, “got the address.”

Dean reached to take it and Crowley pulled it out of his reach, “now lets talk about payment.”

Dean crossed his arms, “We're not making a deal with you, just hand it over.”

“It's not you I want to make a deal with.” Crowley said, turning toward Sam, “I need your help to lock Lucifer back in the box your boyfriend let him out of.”

“Lucifer's dead,” Sam said swallowing against the drop that his stomach took at the sound of the name.

“You sure about that?” Crowley asked, “Did you actually see him dead?”

“Amara killed him.” Dean said, “we were all there.”

“Well I have it on good authority, being my own, that she just cast him out of Cas. We're going to try to trap him, all we need is bait.” He moved closer, “Come on Sam, you know he's never going to stop coming after you.”

“No,” Sam said, the small sound of denial escaped from his lips. He already knew he was going to agree though, because it was his responsibility, if it was down to protecting the world from the angel or saving himself he'd choice the world. He already had.

“I'll do it.” Cas said before Crowley could say anything else to convince him.

“You're a good backup plan,” Crowley said looking at Cas, “but it's Sam that he really wants, Sam that is going to bait the trap.”

“Do you know where he is?” Cas demanded.

“Not at the minute, but I have a lead.” Crowley was still looking at Sam, studying him like he expected Sam to jump to Cas' rescue.

“Cas don't.” He tried, it was a plea that he knew would fall on deaf ears.

“Lucifer is my responsibility” Cas said, “I let him out, I have to put him back.”

The words were an echo of Sam's own words. When it had been him manipulated into letting the arch angel free. It wasn't that he wanted to let Cas go, but he understood if Cas felt the need to.

Crowley seemed to consider it he agreed and that was settled, “your address.” he said handing the paper to Dean, before walking out of the bunker casually. The door slammed behind him and Sam couldn't help the slight flinch. They went back to their bedroom for Cas to pack.

Sam watched him move around their shared space and felt weird about letting him go, about not insisting he went with him, but he wasn't ready for the fight to come yet.

He found a spot on the wall and found himself remembering, remembering Cas full of power and anger, declaring himself God. His touch that had been soft and brought Sam to his knees, then farther, out of the world and into the hell in his mind. He had forgiven him, but it had been Cas and Crowley working together that had taken him to that point.

He remembered more than he wanted. Caught not quite in a flashback but something stronger than a memory. He felt the touch against his hand, and snapped back to reality hard enough to make him feel like he'd missed a step.

Cas was next to him and begging for him to understand, “I need to do this.”

“I know,” Sam said, “I don't trust him.”

“I can handle Crowley, I know how he works.”

“Just be careful.” Sam whispered, “and call me as often as you can.”

“I'll come back.” Cas said, “I promise, just as soon as we figure out where he is.”

Sam nodded, and repeated, “be careful Cas. I'm serious. The last time you and Crowley really worked together it didn't end so well.”

“I remember,” Cas moved close, “I need to do this though.” His fingertips trailed around the healing edge of the cut on Sam's cheek, “are you going to be okay?”

“I'm fine,” Sam lied with a smile, “go do what you have to do.”

Cas closed the distance between them surprising Sam. He stepped back to find the door behind him and Cas still pressing closer, his lips were warm and soft against Sam's own and after his brain caught up again that this was okay. He kissed back. Drinking the taste and trying not to be afraid Cas wouldn't make it back to them.

He pulled Cas closer, it was weird how Cas seemed bigger than him sometimes. The warmth that radiated from him felt like it was soaking into Sam's skin. Sam didn't try to talk him out of leaving even though he wanted nothing more than to keep Cas with him and linger in his warmth a little longer, “if you need us, call. Call me anyways to let me know you're alright.”

“Of course,” Cas said softly, his eyes betraying the lie, Sam knew he should be going with him. If Lucifer wasn't his responsibility this time around he was at least connected to Sam. Sam would always feel like he should be doing more.

“I should go with you,” Sam was mostly talking to himself.

“No.” Cas voice was harsh, an order in a single word, “you need to get better.” Cas kissed him again, “I will keep you updated, and I will call if there is something you can do, but your current situation you should be kept as far from Lucifer as possible.”

“I'm okay, I can handle it,” Sam whispered.

“I believe you, but I'm saying you don't have to,” Cas said already stepping away, taking the warmth that Sam had been unknowingly leaning into with him. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed and watched Cas move. He didn't take anything with him when he was an angel, he hardly took more than that as a human.

“When you come back, we'll get you some more clothes.” Sam said, “stuff that's just yours that's not borrowed.”

“I don't mind borrowing your clothes.” Cas said then looked around the room like he was forgetting something.

“Got your phone?” Sam asked. And watched while Cas checked the pockets of his trench coat for it.

“Id?”

“Yes,” Cas said absently still scanning the room.

“All of them Cas? You never know which you might need.”

“I have them.” Cas said distracted by his own thoughts.

“Angel blade?”

Cas touched the inner pocket on his jacket and nodded.

“Cash?” Sam asked thinking that Cas probably wasn't use to carrying cash or cards. “Here,” Sam got his wallet and pressed a few bills into Cas palm.

“You've got the cards, just make sure the names match if you use them.”

“I know,” Cas said wrapping his hand around Sam's, “I know you're worried, you don't have to be, I'll be back before you know I'm gone.”

“You better,” Sam tried to smile, but it fell away like a discarded shirt. Something that didn't fit and he couldn't make himself wear it anymore. “Cas, please – “ the words died on his tongue the way the smile had died on his lips. There was light dancing across the bedroom wall. It looked like it was reflecting off water, quavery splotches of blue and yellow flickering not quite like flame, but like the reflections he'd seen from motel pools glimmering under yellow streetlamps. His eyes roamed the room, looking for anything liquid that would be making the pattern.

“Sam?” Cas hand was on his, and Sam realized it was his own, and not Cas' fingertips that were digging into the sore place in his palm.

Sam twisted toward him trying to drag his eyes away from the light show.

“Hey, what are you seeing?” Cas asked gently.

“Nothing.” Sam shook his head willed the watery lights to go away and focused instead only on Cas on the concern marring his face. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, “just tired”

Cas's doubts were painted on his face but he didn't challenge the assertion. Cas was ready to go too soon. “I'll call,” he promised again, and then Sam was alone staring at a blank wall. The light that had been playing there was nothing more than a fading memory.

 


	15. Chapter 15

There was the familiar sharp rap of Dean knocking on his door. He didn't wait for Sam to answer before walking into the room like he owned it and leaning against the door frame. “You coming out, or are you going to hide out in here forever?” Dean asked smiling.

“Was thinking about it,” Sam couldn't remember what he'd been doing before Dean came in. He checked his phone. It'd been almost an hour since Cas left. He was pretty sure he'd been mostly zoned out staring at the blank wall in front of him.

Mary was pacing in the library the child wrapped up in a blanket. The noises coming from it were soft and quiet. Little sighs and whimpers that never seemed to stop. The soft humming that she'd been doing died away when they walked in.

She took a half step and stopped pacing turning to face them. “I don't want you to come with me.” The words were a hard to decipher rush of syllables.

Dean struggled with the words searching for their meaning. It was obvious he understood, but he hoped he was wrong.

“I need some time alone to process all of this,” she said. There was a dare in her eyes when she looked at them like she was expecting a fight or an argument. “I can't be here, pretending that this is all okay, and normal, I can't...” She looked down at the kid in her arms. “I miss John. I miss my boys, and they're gone and every moment I spend with you reminds me of every moment I lost with them.”

She was begging them to understand her eyes were wet with tears she hadn't shed, “I'm so, so sorry, I have to go.”

Sam saw the bag for the first time when she picked it up. She wrapped an arm around him in a half hug and he had to close his eyes and keep from giving into the urge to crush her against him. To drown in the too unfamiliar feeling of her affection. Too soon it was over and she moved toward Dean. Dean couldn't look at her and wouldn't let her touch him. His pain was so obvious Sam felt it echo in the pit of his stomach, redoubling his own sense of loss. They were doing better. They were getting along and talking.

He was focused on Dean so hard the sound of the door slamming behind him made him flinch. She was gone.

“Dean?” His brother looked as wrecked by Mary leaving as Sam felt.

“I guess you got what you wanted,” Dean whispered running a hand over his face, a lost broken sound came from him, a second before Dean turned and walked away from him, leaving Sam alone with his own thoughts.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Sam checked his phone for the hundredth time in a week. There wasn't any new messages since the last one he'd gotten that morning. Cas was checking in still hunting with Crowley, still promising to be back as soon as they found something.

He was trying not to worry, and trying not to think about what his angel was hunting. Cas was good at what he did, but Cas was human, and being human had limitations being an angel did not.

He's going to die an insidious voice whispered in his ear. He ignored it. It was almost easy to ignore the various intrusive thoughts, and light shows that seemed to pop up occasionally without warning. They were sporadic, random, mostly completely pointless. Flickers of color, occasionally an image would forge itself from the depths of his mind, but they were mostly watery and dream like. They were easy to see through when he focused on them. 

“Are you okay?” He sent before he let himself over think it. Just to get a response to shut up that voice for just a little longer.

He put the phone down and tried to ignore the concern that twisted through him while he waited for a response.

The phone chimed and the weight of his concern was lifted. The text said, “Crowley is tiring but otherwise I'm okay.”

Sam was still working on putting together a response when the phone notification chimed again. “What's Sexting?”

Sam put the phone down and ran his hand through his hair, how the hell was he suppose to explain that to someone with no experience at it. A simple direct answer was usually the best when Cas asked about something he didn't realize was suggestive. “Texting sexual content.” he replied. Out loud he told the phone, “a dictionary would be less bland.”

“Like what?” Cas messaged him back almost instantly.

“I don't know,” Sam started to send the message then thought better of it, any explanation was better than Cas asking someone else. He added, “things you want to do to each other, erotic imagery, sometimes pictures, or what your doing to yourself if you're masturbating.” He hit send before he let himself over think it.

Sam waited for an answer. He put the phone down and hoped that had answered any of the questions that Cas had about it. He was still waiting hoping he'd message back. His phone found its way back into his pocket.

He'd almost given up on getting a response when it finally came through. “Can we try that?” For a second he almost blanked on what Cas was asking to try. It didn't fit in with the other conversation they'd been having. It definitely didn't fit with the image of Cas he held.

“Sure,” he felt that it was way too casual an answer for how nervous the idea made him. Again he fired the message off before he could over think it.

His brain was working through everything that he could say, running through the writings that had worked for him before, he didn't know what to say though, didn't know what kinds of things that Cas would like to read.

Sam walked out of the room, too much restless energy for how small the space was. He wandered through the bunker before ending up in the kitchen. Dean looked up from whatever he was watching on the laptop and gestured with a cup of coffee. That and the grunt of acknowledgment was all that Sam got from him.

He poured himself coffee and considered the contents on the fridge. The phone went off twice in rapid succession the first time and he tried not to let his brother see that anything was going on, he pulled the phone out as another notification went off.

“Dude what the hell?” Dean asked half glancing at him over the laptop, “someone really needs your attention.”

“it's,' Sam swallowed the answer afraid if he said it was Cas Dean would ask about where Cas was. Or worse, ask what he had to say. He shrugged, “probably nothing,” he said and slid the phone back into his pocket.

Every step back to his room seemed longer than the last. He locked the door behind him, without thinking about it too much.

The first response was short, “going to talk to a witness.”

The second was a little longer, “tell me what you'd like.”

The third was longer, “I've been around a long time. I've seen species born, worlds created, miracles and gods and nothing I've ever seen compares to how much you mean to me. Nothing will bother me.”

Sam doubted the truth of that. He assumed Cas was letting him know it'd be a while before his next message.

He focused instead on the order in the middle trying to think of the things that he liked. The things that he rarely had chances to really ask for. “I like being in control.” he laughed humorlessly at the answer before he sent it.

He let his mind wander while he waited. Thinking about what it would be like if Cas were there, if he didn't feel the need to put the fucking brakes on every time things started to get heated between them. He wanted to be okay, wanted to be able to forget everything that had happened and just enjoy touching, and exploring Cas. He imagined what it would be like to have Cas underneath him. How he would like to kiss him until his lips were bruised pink. There were so many things he didn't think Cas had experienced as an angel. So many things that he probably hadn't considered the times that he'd been human.

He was half daydreaming when Cas messaged him back. “Did you know a human body is a remarkable thing. There are people who manage to reach orgasm by thought alone? That most people fail to properly utilize erotic zones? That someone with an intimate knowledge of how human bodies are designed could realistically make you orgasm without direct stimulation.”

Sam let his mind roam over all the possibilities on what Cas could do while typing, “tell me how you'd do it.”

The next message came much later. It was less a text and more a story. Laid out in details that were at times clinical but still managed to be kind of hot. Sam read it as it came in and sent back replies without much thought.

“Am I doing this wrong?” Cas asked after a while.

“You're doing great,” Sam answered, the texts he'd been getting were actually not that bad when they were taken together. Just he wasn't able to get as into it as he should have been, too worried about Cas working with Crowley again, too worried about Mary leaving without them.

“You're not enjoying this,” Cas cut directly into the heart of the problem.

Sam realized their conversation had been fairly one sided with Cas sending messages and him sending back one and two word responses of encouragement he didn't really feel that into it. “I'm sorry,” he didn't bother lying.

The phone fell silent after that. Cas apparently having lost any interest in texting him while working.

 


	17. Chapter 17

“I fucking hate Iowa,” Dean muttered, his hand was wrapped around the wheel and he was glaring at the fields they were passing like they'd personally offended him for existing. “corn, corn, corn, and more corn, who the hell needs this much corn?”

Sam wasn't quite worked up to dean's level of animosity toward the fields. It might have been because Dean's anger had very little to do with the place. He was mad at the entire world. The corn was just the latest victim of his barrage of vitriol.

Dean had been a joy to live with in the day since Mary had left, child in tow, and promised that she'd call them soon. Dean checked his phone and dropped it on the seat next to him. His lips thinned into a hard line.

“Any word yet?” Sam asked, knowing what he'd say.

Dean's eyes cut across him from the road, the gathering frustration there answered the question for him and he let out an annoyed huff before reaching for the radio. “You know the worst part, it's hard to find a damn radio station here that doesn't think farming is the greatest thing ever.” Dean shoved a tape into the cassette deck hard enough Sam was pretty sure he could have cracked it.

He didn't bother asking his brother what he'd do when he wore out the ribbon. It wasn't like they were still making cassettes.

They both pretended not to notice the distortion in the music, the promise of it's imminent demise hung in the air. Sam wondered absently which would go first, them or the cassette. Knowing their luck, the tape would outlive them. Not that anyone else would ever listen to it. It was almost like they were the last people who remembered what it was like to still have cassettes.

Dean's fingers drummed on the wheel in time to the music. The wheels sung on the pavement. It was warm and the heat from the fields came in through the open window. The smell of dust and something strong and earthy filled the car, if he spared a thought to it, he might have said that it was the smell of the crops they were passing.

It was easy to let himself drift in the safety of the impala. Easy to let the familiar music and Dean's driving, and the smell of another strip of American highway lull him into relaxing against the leather seat. For the first time in a long time he felt that maybe this wasn't an illusion. If it were, it was a really good one. The little details were perfect. Sam watched a bright pinprick of light grow until it became the sun glare off the roof of a fire engine red tractor. Sam watched it out of the corner of his eye as it grew, gathered form, and then vanished into the circle mirror on his side of the car.

He thought about looking up the case, finding out what he could while they were on the way, but resting in the passenger seat was the most relaxed he'd managed to be in so long he almost forgot what it felt like. There was a familiarity in the aches that came from being in the car so long. He didn't think that it could be easily faked. So he let himself drift in the in between place not quiet drifting to sleep but resting.

Dean's hand grazed his wrist and he was shaken out of his thoughts. “What?” He muttered, his voice so sleep groggy he thought he might have fallen asleep without realizing it.

“Where are we,” he asked realizing the car had come to a stop and Dean's door was open.

“Pit stop, last one before we get there,” Dean said, “I'm filling her up, you want anything now's the time to get it.”

Sam was chasing the last fleeting memory of sleep. Trying to let himself sink back into the illusion of safety that had let him fall asleep without realizing it or meaning to. His eyes were drifting again when Dean climbed back in the car. There was a moment when he could feel Dean looking at him, the words his brother wasn't saying were thick in the air between them.

The tape was changed sometime later and Sam came fully awake to the sound of Led Zeppelin singing about a woman unkind. “Where are we?” he asked as he stretched in the limited space.

“In the middle of the damn sea of corn.” Dean muttered, “Iowa,” like that was new information.

“I meant how long was I out?” Sam rubbed against the grittiness of his eyes.

“A couple hours.” Dean turned off the radio. The silence dragged out between them. Sam thought about asking if there had been news while he was out, but if there had been Dean would have shared it. And if there wasn't asking could only lead to putting Dean even deeper into the attitude he'd gotten lost in since Mary left.

A low insistent pressure got his attention, “pull over at the next place,” he said scanning the horizon for a sign of a gas station or rest stop.

He recoiled a little from the malicious look his brother shot him. Dean reached for the radio, switched it to the local fm station that played rock and turned the volume up as loud as he was comfortable cranking it.

Twenty miles later there was a blue sign with a gas station list at the bottom. Dean gunned it past the exit.

Sam twisted in the seat looking at him, taking in the person that was sitting next to him. “Seriously?” He asked already knowing it wasn't that Dean forgot he was suppose to stop.

“You can hold it.” Dean shrugged and turned away from him. He didn't spare his brother as much as a side ways glance until Sam looked away, sank back into a more comfortable slouch against the passenger side door and tried not to think too much about any one thing.

There was a hum in the back of his mind, a sound like a wasp or a bug that was close enough to hear but just out of his line of sight. He shifted again and tried to ignore it. It wasn't anything, and definitely wasn't anything in the car he should be hearing over the riffs of Metallica.

It was just another remnant a ghost of the drugs and magic that had almost destroyed him.

 ___

There are horrors in the world. Sam was more acquainted with that fact than most. There are monsters, there are things that the average person couldn't dream of. There is an undeniable streak of evil in the world. His stomach dropped at the sight and smell of blood.

At the vision in front of him that he wished he could believe wasn't real. For her sake if not for his own.

She was suppose to be dead, but her livelihood held no fear for him. She wasn't an apparition or a spirit, or a drug induced hallucination. She was just a girl, alone and weeping on a blood stained floor. Broken by the people who were suppose to love her and protect her.

There was an ache in him a tug so hard in the vicinity of his heart that he could have wept for her. There had been moments in his life when he'd felt empathy like a physical pain, but this was different, this was the instant recognition of a kindred spirit.

He held out hope that she wasn't beyond saving, that her torture had not broken her. There was a lucidity to the way she was singing.

He whispered her name, already knowing her. Knowing that she had suffered the way that few people in life get to suffer.

“That's not my name,” she said, “I'm not Magda, I'm the Devil.”

There was something disgustingly ironic that she'd be there to tell him that. He knew the devil, more intimately than possibly anyone ever had or would. There wasn't a seed of doubt in his mind, the girl was just what she appeared to be.

“No. No, you're really not.” He said trying to will her to understand just because it had been beaten into her, and tortured into her, did not make it true. People will begin to believe anything if not believing it causes them immense pain.

“He's inside me,” she spoke with surety, like there was no other explanation for the things that she could do, for the things that had happened. “I can hear him whispering. He lets me hear what people are thinking. He lets me do things.”

Sam thought of the stigmata that had appeared on the two that had died. The marks of Christs abuse. The religious fervor of the mother, taking it out on the child, forcing her into an unjustifiable penance. It fit in a way that made him sick. She was screaming out for help and people were dying.

“What kind of things?” He asked, because he already suspected and needed to know, “Magda, I'm here.” the most important thing, she wasn't alone any more. “I'm here to help you, show me, please.” eh pleaded because he needed to reach her, to make her understand what had taken so long for him to understand.

 ---

The girl was a survivor. Sam couldn't help but thinking as he lifted the cross and sat it back in its place. Dean's dislike had been enough to make him try to hide what he could do back when he could do it. Not even the striped, broken flesh on her back had forced Madga's abilities dormant. She was powerful. He wished that she hadn't suffered for that ability. That she could have had the childhood she deserved instead of being locked into a cellar. He hurt for her, and part of himself wanted to wrap around her and protect her from anything else the world threw at her.

He had an instant love for the broken child. Not an abstract idea of it the way he cared about all the people he and Dean had tried to save over the years. It was specific. He loved her for her strength, and how hard she fought to survive, and how she had finally turned on the woman that was suppose to love her and had almost killed her. It would have been a great loss to the world for Madga to lose the spark he saw in her.

He wanted to offer her the world, wanted to offer to give her a place to stay, or teach her what he knew, or anything. He wanted, in a way that might have been selfish to keep her with him. To keep her safe from the rest of the people like her mother who wouldn't understand that she was special. Not evil, not demonic, not possessed, but beautiful and precious and she might just be able to help save others like her if she learned enough about her abilities, and if they hadn't completely been beaten out of her.

“Magda, I-I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but...you're gonna be all right. You can do this. You will do this. Just remember, that power... it doesn't control you. You control it.” He needed so much for her to understand that this wasn't her fault.

“I know,” she agreed. It was more than he could have hoped for. He found himself admiring her strength of character again. She was going to be okay, despite what had happened to her. In spite of everything he really believed that given enough time she'd be able to move on with her life. He didn't tell her the things that he knew, that it'd be hard. That she was just leaving survival mode and before long the healing would start. In some ways that would be almost as bad as the torture.

The way that it could tear at a person until they could find themselves believing they deserved what happened to them. He didn't tell her the reality was over but the nightmares would probably never be. He didn't tell her lies and he didn't make promises. He offered her the only thing that he had to give which was himself. His number, his support, and his friendship. “If you ever need anything, _anything,_ call me okay? I'll be there.” he promised and willed her to understand how much he meant it.

 ___

Sam and Dean had almost reached the bunker when Sam's phone let him know he had a message. It was three words from a number he didn't recognize. “Someone's following me.”

“Where are you?” He sent back not adding the “who is this” that he was considering.

It took a few seconds to get a reply, and in that time he tried to keep the coil of anxious energy from springing into something unmanageable.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Sam was jarred awake when the darkness was cut with the glare of LED headlights. “Son of a bitch,” Dean yelled, “dim your fucking lights.”

“Where are we?” Sam asked.

“Almost home.” Dean glanced over at him, “Why the hell are people out driving this late anyways, shouldn't they be at home in bed?”

Sam shrugged, Dean had been in a better mood on the return trip but it was late and he'd been driving for a few hours.

He was checking the time when a text message lit up his screen. It was three words from a number he didn't recognize. “Someone's following me.”

“Where are you?” He sent back not adding the “who is this” that he was considering. There was only one person he had given the number to recently that he didn't have a contact for.

He turned toward Dean, “We've got a problem. Someone's following Magda.”

“Why would someone be following her?” Dean asked.

Sam didn't have an answer.

The phone went off again the name of a city somewhere along the interstate. Tacked to the end of it was the words, “Please hurry.”

Sam read it to Dean, The impala slowed down to an almost crawl and Dean made a three point turn in the middle of the highway before heading back in the direction they'd come. Where they'd been driving almost leisurely back home, the speedometer was brushing against the ninety miles per hour marker.

“She's smart,” Dean said, “She'll stay out of sight, distract whoever it is, something, or we'll get there and take care of it. Don't worry.”

He might as well have told his brother not to breath.

\---

An insidious voice whispered that he was too late. Dean had tore up the miles between where they'd been when they got the call and the rest stop Magda had messaged them from, but it had taken too long. It was a life time.

When they pulled into the parking lot it looked like an average place. Picnic tables were scattered beneath the shade of trees. There was a chattering of squirrels emboldened by the ample food supplied by travelers. It didn't seem like the kind of place a young girl should be fighting for her life. There was a few motorcycles were parked in the three spots closest to the building. A couple family cars were scattered through the remaining parking spaces and farther down 18-wheelers stood in a glittering line. Dean scanned the parking lot.

“Text her.” He ordered.

Sam already had the phone in his hand. He hoped that she was smart enough to have the phone on silence. It rang a few times and went to voice mail. _Told you._ The voice whispered again. 

He looked for anywhere that she might be able to hide.

Dean pulled his gun out of the glove box and checked the clip. Sam stowed his phone and they left the car. It felt like they were walking into a trap. He couldn't figure it out though. There was nothing that seemed out of place in the parking lot. And the place had too much foot traffic for whoever had been following the girl to grab her without being seen. 

At least it did during the day. He didn't know what it had been like the night before.

There was a camera above the door. And Sam grabbed one of his FBI Id's. Dean tucked the gun in his waist band. “How do you want to play it?”

“I'll go in, ask around, you scope the place, see if you can find her.” Sam suggested.

Dean nodded his agreement and they split up. Dean walked around the back of the building while Sam headed straight for the office with a purpose. Sam's phone went off as he was walking through the door.

He recognized the number as the same he'd received the text from earlier. He answered it as quick as he could, “Magda? Where are you?”

“No,” A deep masculine voice said. “Samuel Winchester.” The voice smiled and Sam thought if he could see it, it'd be a snakes smile. “It's so good to speak with you.”

“Wish I could say the same, where is she?”

“You're not in a position to make demands.” The man said, the accent grated on Sam like sand paper. “Put your gun in the waste basket by the front door.” He ordered.

“I don't have a gun.” Sam lied.

“Don't play games with me. Mr. Winchester, you are out of your depths. Do it.” There was a soft sound like a sigh and the woman that had been sitting on the bench nearest the trash can slumped over. Sam watched her fall feeling like he was watching the air deflate from a balloon.

“That's one,” he said, “how many more have to die before you comply? Maybe the next one will be the girl? Maybe your brother? Maybe the man standing by the vending machine.” There was a pause, “his name is Teddy, and he's on the way to see the birth of his first child. It'd be a shame if he missed it because you couldn't do what you're told.”

“Okay, okay.” Sam said reaching for the gun. He dropped it into the basket and heard the metal thump against the bottom of the canister.

“Very good,” the voice whispered, “good behavior is always rewarded.”

“Go to hell,” Sam said, “this is between you and me, these people are innocent.”

“They're American. They're no more innocent than the monster's we put down.” The voice taunted him. “That's two.” he said casually. The man whose name might have been Teddy slumped against the machine. Staggered a half a step back and fell roughly against the side of the coke machine. It tilted under his weight before settling back down flat.

“Now,” The voice picked back up a false cheerful lilt. “Walk.”

“Where am I walking to?” Sam asked.

“I'll tell you where to go.” He answered.

“That's three.” The woman who had been reading the paper fell back against the back of the bench, the newspaper fluttered down around her feet. Sam waited for the screaming to start waited for someone to realize that something was wrong. His eyes darted across the space. It was deserted for the moment. “turn left.” the man said and Sam turned to see a door marked “Maintenance.” He went through it without asking if it was the room that he was being directed toward. It was too obvious not to.

The door locked behind him. And he turned toward it abruptly. “easy,” the man said. “we don't want any more mishaps. Cleaning this mess up is going to be a nightmare.”

Sam thought he would relish the mess he left behind rather than cleaning it up.

“That wasn't so hard was it?” there was a hard prick of pain in the side of his neck and he saw a face pull itself from the shadows. If he didn't know death personally he might have believed it was the creature come back to life.

“Pleasant dreams.” The unknown man said smiling. The smile warped and distorted, his teeth elongated becoming fangs. A thin forked tongue slipped out in the gap between them and the world faded to black.

There was an insistent clicking, the sound of a clock in another room. Sam felt weighted down, and couldn't force his eyes to open. There was a touch against his head and he could smell blood. He struggled to make his body do what he wanted it to. The lead in his limbs made it impossible to move. It took several more minutes before he was able to force his eyes open. As soon as he managed it the clicking at last stopped.

“Six hours,” A man said, “that's an impressive constitution.”

A hand came into view in front of him. It took a minute to figure out he was laying on his side something warm and firm was under his head and he was facing the kneeling form of a man. Fingers were rubbing through his hair gentle and soft.

“You are quite an interesting case,” the man said, “I mean your injuries alone should be barely healed by now, you shouldn't even be able to walk on that leg, not to mention the burn on your foot. But here you are.” He said it amused. “That drug should have lasted at least two days. So it brings up the question, what are you really?”

“I'm a hunter,” Sam ground out, his voice drug thick and slurred.

“Are you?” He asked smiling, his eyes glittered with amusement, “so if you're the dog, who's got the other end of your leash?”

Sam didn't dignify the slur with an answer. His mind too busy trying to form a coherent thought. Looking for a way out of the situation.

“Where are we?” He asked.

“You show me yours, I'll show you mine.” The man said. “Tell me who makes the hard choices for you, which hunts to take, which monsters to put down or spare, tell me who gives you the kill orders.”

“Go to hell.” Sam said, and waited for the retaliation.

The hand running through his hair stopped and Sam heard the soft intake of breath. He realized he was still pressing his weight down on the person beneath him and struggled to force himself up. He felt a rush of relief at seeing Magda. She smiled slightly.

“Are you okay?” He asked her.

She nodded and he saw the tense lines on her face, she was in pain, but she was hiding it well.

The man checked his watch. “You are quite remarkable.” He said, and wrote something down on a sheet of paper. “I have to ask, why didn't you finish the job?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Sam answered trying to think of any job they'd left undone.

“Her.” He said gesturing, “she was killing people, without thought, without care for the outcome of her actions. Your purpose as a hunter is to remove threats to humanity, so why let this one, with blood on her hand live? Tell me, and more importantly tell her, why you couldn't finish the job.”

“She's just a girl.” Sam said, “She's not a monster.”

“But she's killed people. What makes you her judge? What gives you the right to just let her go on about her life? Innocent people are dead because of her. Isn't that what it means to be a monster?”

“No.” Sam said, “You're wrong. She made a mistake.”

“How do you know that? Because that's what she told you? How do you know she didn't just make you believe what you wanted to believe? How do you know she didn't manipulate your mind? She could do it? She has the power and you know it, she knows it, her parents knew it.”

There was a soft whimper sound as Magda physically recoiled from the comment.

“She's a child, she was beaten, and tortured and put through hell, and all she wanted was help. That woman wasn't a parent, she was a zealot who's brain had been fried by so many pills she couldn't see that torturing her own daughter was wrong. There was only one monster in that house and it wasn't Magda.”

He shrugged and smiled an amused twitch of his lips, “Now comes the hard question, what do I do with you?”

“You've already made up your mind.” Sam said tired of his shit and still looking for a way out of the room, Dean would be coming at any minute. He had to be tearing the place apart looking for Sam. To the other man Sam growled, “this is just a game to you.”

“No, games are fun. This is a test.” He smiled again, “so here's the rules, either you passed and I let you take the girl and walk out of here, or you failed.” He pulled a gun out of his pocket, the metal gleamed in the low light. “You tell me, what do you think? Did you Pass or Fail?”

 


	19. Chapter 19

Sam shifted just enough to get Magda more safely behind him.

There was a click of the gun being cocked and then he lifted it, “Good answer, it will be a pleasure to work with you Mr. Winchester.”

“What?” Sam was searching for the lie.

He smiled and flipped the gun before it was dramatically holstered, “so we have a lot to cover, and I'm sure you are just burning up with questions.”

“Just one, where's Dean?”

“Knocked out in a closet.” He smiled, “your brother's perfectly safe. Now, let's discuss your fairly impressive credentials. Most of the legacies are trained from childhood. I guess the training may have been unconventional, more military than most. You keep secrets even under extreme duress, you're not a killer, you have insight to see true monsters. You're willing to die to protect the innocent, and you do it without flinching. Your education is _spotty_ , I think you may be the only people with first hand experience of every high school in this country, and yet you went to a decent college albeit briefly.”

“What do you want?” Sam asked.

“To help you.”

“Help?” Sam echoed, “I'm not sure we have the same definition of help.”

“I'm here to officially induct you to the men of letters. To sign over the American branch and all it's resources to you, and to open communication between our chapters. As the only surviving Legacies in the Continental US I'm to help you expand, and improve the chapter and it's facilities anyways that you feel are necessary. You call the shots here Mr. Winchester, I'm here to work for you.”

“Why?”

There was a pause, “You and your brother have saved the world more than once, against things that no human should be able to overcome. A biblical scale apocalypse and the two of you somehow managed to pull it together long enough to keep the world spinning. Imagine what you could do with real support?”

“We're hunter's, we save people. That's the job.”

“No, that's a choice you have to make, do you want to be hunters, or do you want to be more? You've got contacts in both heaven and hell, no one else on Earth has those kind of connections. You can organize, you can teach, you can find support for families that have lost everything and you'll have the resources, and the support to make an actual difference. If you want to retire from hunting rather than die bleeding on the floor of an abandoned house, this is how you do it. Hunters, victims, civilians, they'll all be better off with someone like you leading the war on the supernatural. That's all I'm asking, you take the job you were meant for, the thing you were born for. Become a true Men of Letters. Not just an appropriated title, but as something that you have earned.”

The words hung in the air, a promise that Sam couldn't let himself fall into. “You want to work with us? I've seen the way you run things, I'm not a fan.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way, but the offer stands regardless of whether you like me or not. You go on doing what you do, day after day, taking out the monsters that you can find, the ones that are stupid, sloppy, lazy, the ones that don't learn how to blend in. When you decide your tired of winning battles while letting the war rage around you, you call me, and I'll help you be the man you were meant to be, in the world you were meant to live in.”

Bang! The door bowed inward under a weight against it. “There's your brother,” he smiled again the light didn't reach his eyes, “right on time.”

He moved away and unlocked the door throwing it open just as Dean attempted to throw his weight against it again. Dean fell into the room. Lost his balance and ended up crashing against the opposite wall.

“Dean Winchester, the man back from the dead more times than he can count?”

Dean dragged himself to his feet, he looked murderous, fist clenched around a blade, “Sammy you okay?” He asked without looking. “been better.” Sam said, “but we're alive.”

Dean's glanced to him and his lips quirked into a small smile, “Good to see you still kicking.” he said to the girl. She clung closer to Sam and he gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“Now that the formalities are out of the way,” Ketch said still giving them his oil slick smile. “There's still the paperwork to contend with.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

“Welcome to Grand Junction,” Dean announced when they rolled into the city they were going to stop for the night in. Sam glanced in the mirror to see the way Magda's eyes took in everything. She held herself too tensely. He could tell she was looking at every person and building like it was a threat.

He didn't ask if she was okay. The slight trembling that she still did from time to time told him she wasn't.

Dean pulled into a hotel parking lot. Something a little more expensive than their normal motels, with a look he dared Sam to object. Sam nodded. It would be nice to stay in a place with fewer suspicious stains on the carpet.

The room had two beds a couch and tv, and mini fridge. It was off white, the few pieces of decoration were pictures of mountains that may have been local. “I'll take the couch.” Dean said before they even got fully into the room. They went through their normal settling in routine careful to keep the weapons out of sight of Magda, but she watched them anyways.

“You don't have to worry about upsetting me,” she said shyly, “I already know what you're hiding.”

“That's comforting to hear.” Dean looked at her, “wait, can you hear everything we're thinking?”

She shook her head, “I'm sorry, I can't really control that, just some things I hear whether I want to or not.”

“Have you tried not listening?” Dean asked then a pained look crossed his face, “sorry, I just don't like the idea of someone hearing my thoughts.”

“He doesn't want you to know how much he really likes Patrick Swayze movies.” Sam whispered to her. He was rewarded with a slight grin.

Dean indignantly barked his name.

“See?” Sam whispered again. She nodded, and he saw some of the tension dragged out of her body.

There was silence for a few minutes while Dean looked over the take out menus stacked in the holder on the tv stand. Sam offered her the remote and she took it gingerly, staring at it like it was a relic of an ancient past. She hit the button and the silence was broken by the inanity of cable programming.

Sam grabbed his phone and considered messaging Cas. He didn't really know what he'd say. There was a lot that he should say, just starting it was difficult.

After a couple false starts where he stared at his phone before dropping it back in his pocket he finally sent a brief message, “Where are you? I miss you.” He hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

Instead of a text response his phone rang.

He said, “Hi Cas”

“Los Angeles.” Cas said, in place of hello. “Crowley is convinced that Lucifer has taken the form of a rock star. So far I see nothing but proof the man is a narcissist with a god complex. But if Lucifer is here, I will find him and he will pay.”

“But you don't think it's him?”

“No,” Cas answered quickly, “I do not. I will of course call you if anything happens that changes my mind.”

“Thanks Cas,” Sam tried to keep his voice even, to keep it from giving away the way that he felt his throat closing at the thought of the arch angel. “Are you going to be in California for a few days? We're actually heading that way.”

“I'm sure we will be. Crowley is certain that he's onto something but so far we're getting no where, more people slam the door in our face than are willing to talk.” Cas said, “how do you deal with that?”

“Change tactics.” Sam suggested, “If the FBI route isn't working, find something that will, be someone they're willing to talk to. Some people don't like cops, especially if they think that they're going to get someone in trouble, you could try the press, or clergy, or lawyers trying to sort out an inheritance. Something they'll believe, and if you can make them want to help you, well, that will open them up more.”

“Thank you,” Cas sighed.

“What's wrong?” Sam asked immediately.

“I'm tired of running in circles.” Cas said, “I feel there's nothing here, Lucifer is dead. Amara killed him. Crowley is so scared that he's going to come after him that he's jumping at ghosts, and rumors of ghosts.”

“Things that are dead can come back.”

“Spoken from experience?” Cas rhetorically asked, “I should be with you, not chasing rumors.”

“It's okay, I understand why,” Sam reassured him, “and if he is still around, I'd rather know.”

Cas made a sound of agreement, then changed the subject, “Tell me about the girl.”

“Let me take this outside.” Sam told Dean where he was going then slipped out the door into the carpeted hallway.

“She's a teenager who happens to be psychic, she endured years of physical, emotional, and psychological abuse, but she's strong. I don't just mean her gifts, she's a fighter. She survived things she never should have gone through.”

“You connected strongly with her.”

“I want to protect her,” Sam said, feeling like he needed to justify how strongly he cared about the girl, “she's been through so much.”

“I'm not an expert in human interactions, but if what you say is true, she could use a friend as much as you can, maybe you should prolong your trip a few days, take her sight seeing, let her have a few moments of normalcy with you and Dean there to protect her.

“Like what?” Sam asked.

“How should I know?” Cas was abnormally oblivious. “I have to go, Crowley just popped back in.”

“Be careful, call me if you need me.” Sam said.

“You as well.” Cas replied before the line went dead between them.

Dean was sitting on the couch next to Magda when Sam walked in, talking in the quiet way that told Sam he had gotten through to her on something important, he smiled at his brother, and Sam was almost convinced that it was going to be okay, that they were all going to be okay.

The tv still played on quietly in the background, Magda was watching it with rapt attention taking her focus from whatever what going on in her head and instead putting it on the lives of people who weren't real. The first genuine open laugh he'd heard was brought out by a stupid joke from the tv. He found himself smiling with her, watching her light up made him feel pride. She was such a good kid.

He spent a few hours going through local attractions on his laptop trying to find things that she might like that wouldn't be too difficult or stressful. He glanced up to see her leaning forward on the couch, though she wasn't smiling she didn't look too upset but there was something in the stiffness of her posture that was off.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

She nodded but didn't meet his eyes.

He kept a closer eye on her, when she noticed he was looking at her she visibly relaxed and settled against the couch. He saw the wince she didn't think to hide though and stood up.

“I'm sorry,” She said immediately, “I'm sorry.”

He dropped down so he was kneeling on one knee by the couch, “It's okay, I want to help you, I don't want you hurting.”

She twisted and he could see blood had seeped through her shirt, lines of red spread from the wounds that still marred her back. “Can I...?” He hesitated to touch her, it felt inappropriate in some deeply unsettling way.

She nodded.

“Put your arm there.” He said guiding her hand to hold down the front of her shirt, “I'm going to look at your back okay, I need to check your stitches.”

“Okay,” She whispered. Her eyes closed and he lifted the blood stained material away carefully, it stuck in places and his own breath hissed between his teeth as he pried it away trying to keep from causing her any more pain.

It wasn't as bad as he had expected. A few places the stitches had torn out and blood streaked across her skin giving it a gory look that probably wasn't as bad as it seemed.

He glanced up as Dean handed him a damp cloth. While he cleaned the blood from her skin and saw the crisscross pattern of scars, new wounds laid over old injuries. Marks that never fully healed before being ripped open freshly his heart broke for her over again. He was as gentle as he could be. But the flesh was too raw and tender for him to do anything without it causing some pain.

Dean handed him a threaded needle and then reached for a strip of leather, “Okay, sweetheart,” he said settling on the other side of her, “this is going to hurt like hell, but nothing you haven't had before okay, I'm sorry, I'll go out and get something to make it hurt less, but we need to fix those stitches first. I need you to bite down, and try not to scream, Sam's going to fix this.”

It was a lot of pressure, he hated that he'd have to hurt her. He saw her obligingly take the strip between her teeth. It was the third stitch that he realized she was relaxing into the pain, her head hung forward and there wasn't a whimper that passed her lips as he pushed the needle into her skin.

The work he was doing blurred in front of his eyes, smears of light blotted out his vision. It was a damn inconvenient time for him to start seeing things. He wiped at his eyes on his sleeve and his vision cleared leaving a wet patch on his arm. He hated that he was hurting her. The thing that he'd promised he'd never do, and she was letting him. It didn't matter that it was restitching the cuts in her back. When he was finished his arms felt like they weighed a ton.

He was exhausted and it was only a few stitches. The girl was in his arms before he realized she was moving, her arms wrapped around his neck and she hugged him fiercely. He was careful to hug her back in a way his arms fell below the injuries.

He was only partially aware they both had tears in their eyes. When she pulled away, she smiled, a pained look but there was something deeper in it.

Dean handed her a glass with amber liquid in the bottom of it. “It'll help you sleep.” He said, “can't promise you'll like it, but it will take that edge off.”

Sam didn't object, she might not have been legal to drink, but she was in a safe place, and she needed the pain relieving oblivion it offered until they could get her something more suitable. She took it and stared at the glass, thinking about it before she looked at Sam the question _Is it safe_ shining in her eyes. He nodded. “That much won't hurt you,”

She swallowed it and gagged, sputtered a little and Dean handed her a soda from the machine in the hall.

It was a few minutes before he saw the sleepy look cross her eyes. And she was already drifting toward sleep. Lying on her stomach on the middle of the bed farthest from the door. Dean was on the couch like he'd said, and Sam was sitting on his own bed the laptop open.

It was a fleeting thought in the silence spreading through the room, how scary it was that she fit so easily with them. She felt like family though they'd only known her for short while.

 


	21. Chapter 21

“Sammy, wake up.” an insidious voice sung out in the early morning hours. He could hear screams echoing down endless corridors. For a minute he didn't know where he was, and then he remembered. Like he could ever forget. The heat scorched through his skin, his lungs choked on acrid air. Everything burned around him.

It wasn't right. Some still functional part of his brain screamed at him, he'd gotten out. This was over, except through the cloying smoke, and the echoes of Lucifer's laughter he couldn't remember how. The doubt crept in, not like a mouse, but like a lion in tall grass. Tearing into him before he knew it was coming.

The screams of the damned echoed around him. The world shook. He heard his brother's voice screaming his name mixed with the other sounds around him. There was another earthquake, _are they still called earthquakes in hell?_ He found himself wondering.

He could still hear his brother screaming though he couldn't tell what direction he was coming from. Seemed to be right on top of him, but there was nothing he could see through the smoke and flames. His voice was everywhere, an illusion of safety in a place where “safe” was a half forgotten myth.

Dean was still yelling his name when he woke up, sweat drenched and shaking.

Dean sighed with relief and sank down on the bed next to him. “Jesus Sammy,” he muttered, “thought you were going to wake the whole damn building before I could get you up.”

“Sorry,” he apologized instinctively the dream was already fading, leaving nothing but it's bitter aftertaste behind.

The room fell into the quiet aftermath. Dean retook his place on the couch and made a show of rearranging the blanket. For Sam it was clear he was finished sleeping for the night. He glanced guiltily at the other bed, knowing before he looked the girl couldn't have slept through it. Her eyes met his unflinching and wet. A heartbeat passed between them and she threw the covers off her bed and was again hugging him while her blanket slid to the floor between the bed.

“It's okay,” he said awkwardly letting himself hug her back, feeling a soft shudder run through her too slender frame. She didn't let go, clinging like she was afraid he was going to disappear if she did.

There was a hiccuping sound that broke in the middle it took too long for him to realize was a word.

“What?” He asked against her hair.

“I didn't mean to listen.” She whispered, “I didn't mean to...” another broken sob tore from her.

He managed to dislodge her enough to get her to meet his eyes for a fraction of a second. “Are you hurt?” He asked trying to think of something that could cause her melt down. Though a traumatized girl crying in the middle of the night didn't necessarily need a reason.

She wiped at her face, doing nothing but smearing her tears farther across her skin, her voice dropped to an angry whisper, “I'm not the one who was in hell.”

He swallowed, searching for the right way to ease her mind, “It was just a dream.” he reassured her.

Her eyes betrayed how badly the lie rolled from his tongue. “It was more than that.” she said, and was crying again. He knew how to handle someone who was crying for themselves, for their own loses and pain, but she was crying for him and it left him at a loss. The words of comfort he meant to give her stuck in his throat. Finally he managed to whisper, “It was a long time ago.”

She nodded, letting him know she heard, but she didn't give him any sign that she believed what he said. Finally she pulled away, the tears gleamed in the low light and he wondered if she knew how strong she was to be crying for him after all she'd been through.

 


	22. Chapter 22

The city was beautiful. It wasn't like it could be anything else after hours in a car and being cooped up in a motel once they made it past the city limits. It wasn't just that it was a pretty city because they were starved for some kind of entertainment. It was beautiful in it's own right.

Sam wasn't sure why he suggested they spend some time wandering the town. It felt like they could use something that was far removed from the farm Magda had been imprisoned in, or the rest stop liminal space where they met the man who made promises with the ease of a crossroads demon.

He didn't trust him, felt like he was walking into a trap, but he just couldn't see where the trap lay.

So they went shopping, to let the teenage girl that she still was have a moment of freedom. It wasn't hard to remember that she'd been 16, when her parents betrayed her. On the edge of adulthood already, yet there was something childlike in the girl, more than just her youth could account for. She wandered between the stores of the mall looking at everything with unabashed glee. She pointed, and she made sounds that reminded Sam of a different girl he'd known when he was younger, one that had no problem showing it when she wanted something. Whether it was a t-shirt, or Sam himself. He shook the memories off and forced himself to focus on his present, on the girl who was currently looking at the display of cellphones at the tech counter. Her fingers trailed over the glass, and the look on her face was one part horror, and one part fascination. He realized it was like someone looking at a dog that had bitten them. She blushed and look down at her feet in a momentary sullen silence.

“Hey, it's okay,” He said stepping up beside her.

“If I hadn't...” She started, then glanced around guiltily as if anyone over hearing might understand what she had started to say.

“No.” He said simply, “that was a mistake, an accident.”

He searched for a way to make her understand, “It's okay to want things. Even things that you have associated with what happened. If you're not ready to get a phone, then you're not ready, but it wasn't the phone, it wasn't that you wanted it, it was her choice. It was your mother's delusions, and paranoia, that she gave into. Not you wanting something. You will never be responsible for what they did to you.”

“I'm responsible for the car wreck.” She said simply, “so I'm responsible for what it caused.”

“No,” he said simply, “you were a child, and you acted childishly, you made a mistake and you have suffered too much already without blaming yourself for this to.” He saw the sales clerk give him a strange look and gave a half appeasing smile, “come on, I think we should get ice cream.”

there was a smile, a flash of one a least before it retreated back into the darkness of her own thoughts. He didn't let it hurt his feelings, though he wanted to see more of it. Instead he smiled a little brighter, forcing himself into a cheerfulness that was almost abnormal. He held open the door for her scanning the bright lit room. It was picture perfect normalcy. There was a couple with a baby in a stroller sitting at a table by a window, other wise the place was deserted. A cashier was waiting at the counter and smiled at them when they came in.

“What can I get for you?” she asked without losing the customer service smile.

There was a heartbeat when Magda looked like she was going to bolt out the door. She swallowed nervously and Sam turned his attention on the girl manning the counter instead, “this is our first time here, what would you suggest?”

There was a pause and the false smile became a little more genuine. “Are you allergic to peanuts or anything like that?”

Magda shook her head no and the answering smile brightened more, “Okay then, chocolate ice cream, peanut butter, caramel, and chocolate chips. It's what I make myself. It's amazing.”

It took a few minutes for her to mix the ice cream, but before too long they had taken a corner table and Sam was watching her drag her spoon across the ice cream like she was afraid to actually dig into it.

He didn't say anything about it. Let her work herself up to it.

“You sure you don't want any?” She asked him.

“Extremely.” he smiled, “this is all yours.” he promised waving off her offer.

She finally got past whatever was holding her back and took a bite of the treat. Her eyes closed in delight. “Oh my god this is the most amazing thing I've ever tasted.” she said dramatically, taking the next bite before she'd swallowed what was in her mouth.

The silence fell between them. Sam searched for a safe topic to bring up, something that would draw her out. Before he could settle on something appropriate she leveled him with a calculated stare, “You know you can talk to me.” she said then looked down shyly before taking her next bite.

He nodded, but there was no way that he was about to unload his problems on a kid.

She rolled her eyes like he'd said it out loud. “You need to talk to someone, someone that isn't Dean. You don't want to worry him, so you lock everything in and lock it down.” She didn't look at him focused on the ice cream like she was afraid to actually see his reaction. “But you're not okay.”

“I'm okay,” Sam argued, “it's nothing that I haven't dealt with before.”

“That's the problem isn't it?” She challenged. Her eyes sparked angrily, he saw the steel beneath the surface and was reminded that like him she was a survivor.

After that the ice cream seemed to lose it's appeal she stared at it a few seconds watched the melted cream drip from her still hovering spoon and dropped it back into the bowl.

She pushed it around the bowl a few minutes before explaining, “I don't think I've ever had so much sugar.”

“Too rich?” Sam asked

“Much.” She agreed. “But thank you.”

“Anytime,” he smiled happy to see the tired but appreciative smile.

The mild awkwardness of the ice cream shop was forgotten as they wondered through a park littered with statues.

“Can we sit?” Magda asked point at a park bench she was already walking toward.

Sam nodded.

“My legs hurt,” she complained, then her cheeks flamed pink, “I mean, as far as things that hurt go it's pretty much nothing, but it's a different kind of sore, it's distracting.”

“We can go back to the room,” Sam suggested, “we don't have to stay here if you're not having fun.”

“I am.” she quickly reassured him, “Just need a minute.”

He sat next to her and was surprised when she reached for his arm and urged it around her shoulder's. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her forehead, “you're going to be okay, you know.” There was something fiercely protective in him that was screaming for him to take care of her as if she were his own daughter

“I know.” She nodded slightly, “I've got you looking out for me.” There was a pause and then she whispered, “I wish that you'd been my dad, you wouldn't have let it happen.”

Sam was at a loss for words, to express how much he regretted that he couldn't have saved her sooner. There was nothing that he could say except the undeniable truth that was already in his mind. “Me too.” he sighed squeezing her close, “I'm here now though, we're not going to let anyone hurt you, not ever.”

She didn't agree, but her hand squeezed his arm lightly.

Sam felt eyes on him. It felt like caress from something filthy, crawling across his skin. He searched for the source but the crowds around them was shifting too much. People and faces almost blurring together while he tried to sort out where the feeling of a threat was coming from.

“Sam.” Magda whispered, he heard the fear starting to creep into her voice, “what is it?”

As if her voice had conjured him Sam saw a familiar figure step out of the shadows a finger pressed against his mocking smile. The words, _Don't tell._ Whispered through his mind, a mocking song.

Sam felt something else, a touch against the surface of his mind like fingertips in a sore spot.

“There's no one there.” Magda was whispering, her hand still grasped his arm, though now it was less her own comfort and more to ground him. “Sam, it's in your imagination, he's not here.”

“How do you know?” Sam asked, willing himself to believe her even as the ice eyes of the angel pinned him where he was, made him feel helpless to protect either of them against the monster that was stalking them.

“I just know.” She said softly, “He's dead, he can't hurt you any more.”

_You were dead._ He almost said,  _Dean was dead. Mom was dead, Cas was dead. I am dead._ The thoughts came too rapidly for him to stop them, 

Time seemed to blur, each breath burned its way through his lungs. Sam was trying to ignore the way everything was too bright, the people walking past seemed to all be glaring at him. Blank eyes that said everything he already was afraid to hear. Their mantra of the names of the dead, the people he'd failed to save, the people that had died for getting too close, the people he couldn't get to in time. He was drowning in the damning voices, whispers that cut as deep as a knife into his heart.

“BREATHE,” The words cut through everything else. Sharp and bright, it overwhelmed the legion in his own mind.

He found the burning in his lungs was a breath he hadn't meant to be holding, air flooded back in cooling as it filled him.

Through the crowd a familiar figure was cutting a path to them. Practically shoving people out of the way.

“Sammy,” Dean dropped to his knees next to the bench.

“What happened.” Dean demanded not of Sam, but of the girl.

“Panic attack.” She whispered, “I didn't know what to do.” Sam saw her push something into his brother's hand, it looked like his phone. He couldn't think clearly enough to figure out why she had it. Or where Dean had come from.

“I'm okay,” He said, the words too ragged to his own ears. “I'm fine, just need to get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “we can do that.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

There was something weird about California. Crossing the state line was like stepping into a memory. Sam could remember the fear, the excitement. The hope when the bus had rolled past that sign. It was never going to be his life, but if he'd known then what all would come, things might have gone differently.

It was hundreds of miles from the place he'd spent a few years trying to live someone else's life. But it still brought back the ash flavor of broken dreams and lost love.

“You should take her flowers.” Magda whispered.

He tried not to hold it against her, but the memory of Jess wasn't one he wanted tangled up with the girl. He knew she didn't mean to, but it felt like an invasion to have her comment on it.

There was nothing else said on the subject, Dean cranked up the volume a little higher and gripped the wheel a little tighter. Like he was still afraid that just crossing the state line would make Sam want to run off on him or something.

They wound their way north. Sam found himself dreading letting her out of his sight. He wondered if her aunt had any idea how special the girl really was. Or If the insanity that had sent Magda's mother over the deep end was hereditary. One thing was sure, he wasn't leaving until he knew she was safe. He really didn't care who it pissed off.

“You sure you're going to be okay?” Sam asked her again as he was standing next to the car.

“I'm sure.” She said, “I can hear her thoughts, she's happy that I'm here.”

“If anything, ever, even for a second, makes you feel unsafe, you call me, don't wait for proof or for it to get worse, just call me, hell you can call me every single day to let me know you're okay anyways.”

She smiled, the pleased quiet smile that made her seem so young again, “I promise.” There was a hopefulness when she looked at the house, “I think this is exactly what I need.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

Despite the years Jess' grave was still easy to find. Sam walked between the headstones with a sense of unease he rarely had in a graveyard. He felt like he was intruding on something that was never his. The grave was covered in a small mound of sun bleached fake flowers. But there were a few bouquets that were newer. The plastic rose petals still looked shiny in the early afternoon sun. Some half forgotten memory swam up, from a thousand life times ago, he heard her whispering, “Roses are lame, give me a cheeseburger any day.”

That might have been the minute he fell for her. He didn't know for sure.

“Hi,” he whispered to the empty air. Words failed him, and he sat down on the ground and let his fingertips trail over the chiseled stone, committing the feel of her name to memory.

The grave stone blurred in his vision and he tried to think of what he would say to her if he could say anything to her. “I'm sorry,” rolled off his tongue. His regrets choked him into silence and he let himself sit on the cool ground and remember her.

A hand rested on his shoulder and he looked up to see Cas. The silence of his companionship was welcome. It dragged on for a while, Sam rearranged the flowers, straightened the weathered roses lame as they were. He didn't think she'd mind the proof that she was still remembered, and still loved after so many years.

“She'd have a doctorate by now.” He mused, “probably a couple kids, and a big dog, or a cat.”

“Sam,” Cas said gently, “don't do this to yourself. It was never your fault.”

“I know.” Sam agreed, “but it still hurts.”

“Then why did you come here? You've suffered enough.”

He didn't tell Cas the reason, that he was thinking about her crossing the state line, that he was feeling guilty for the years that had passed. That no suffering in the universe was enough penance for dragging her into his life. That all his good intentions meant nothing when faced with the harsh reality of a cold grave of a woman who had been full of life until she got too close to him. “I had to.” he answered, “I had to bring flowers.”

Cas didn't respond. Sam was sure the questions would come later. Either that or Cas had been around long enough to know that humans bring flowers to mourn. He didn't ask. Sam didn't answer. Somewhere a bird song filled the silence. It's mating call unanswered making it sound oddly forlorn.

“Do you think she remembers me?” Sam asked at last, “that maybe, despite everything I might have been there for some of the memories she wanted to relive.”

“I don't know,” Cas said, “I think if it were me, you'd be in all of my memories. I'm sorry, I never thought to check on her for you.”

there wasn't anything left to say, Sam stood and gave the stone one last look. A feeling came over him that it very well might be the last time that he made it out to visit her grave. He kissed his fingers and pressed them against the picture. Willing for wherever she was that she would somehow know that he was thinking of her, and how much he loved her still.

When he turned to walk away cas fell into step just behind him, silent and watchful until they made it past the cemetary gate. Sam let out a relieved breath. Feeling lighter for having been, but still glad to be leaving.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked his hand found it's way to Sam's back.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Sam asked.

“Something is bothering you,” Cas pointed out. “you might not be willing to tell me what it is, but I can tell that something is wrong.”

“Same thing, different day,” Sam said as an answer, disturbed how apt the description was. “Why are you with me?” he asked, “You should run, before it's your grave I'm bringing flowers to.”

“I don't run.” Cas said, “I was an angel.”

“And now you're human,” Sam reminded him, “Because of me.”

“You are so much more than you give yourself credit for.” Cas said, “I'm very old, I have seen more than any living person has a right to have seen. It was never a question between being an angel and saving you. I would choose you a thousand times over without hesitation, you mean too much to me for me to lose you.”

About the time Sam thought he was finished Cas started talking again, “It's a common belief that every element is born in a star, and that everything you are, must have come from one of those stars at some point. I don't know what came before angels, but I know that there is not a star in the sky more beautiful than your soul. I know that if you are the afterlife of a dying star, then it is better served in being part of you than it ever was as a celestial being. I know, because I feel the same way. The water in your veins is from seas that existed before life was placed on this planet, and it is more honored to flow through your body than it ever was as part of those seas. Your bones are made from the same minerals as some rocks, but there was never a rock as strong, or dependable as you are. The world's still spinning because of your strength, and heart, and endurance. The entire universe owes you it's existence. And you want to suggest I leave, because I might die.” his voice raised in something like anger. “I will die Sam.” he said with harsh finality, “but for you, to have been with you even for a little while, to have seen the wonders that you have done, and the lives you've saved, and how much better off the world is just for you being in it. That alone makes it worth it. I wasn't alive until I loved you.”

The impulse to kiss his angel was overwhelming. Sam grabbed his hand and pulled him back there was a heart beat when he wasn't sure that Cas was going to let him move him. Then he went willingly and their lips met in a kiss that was achingly gentle.

There was an intoxicating excitement at the thought that Castiel was his, was willing to over look everything that had happened and talk about him like he was the most important thing in the world. He couldn't believe a word of it, but it didn't lessen the effect of the words. When the kiss ended, Sam felt exhausted, the past couple days catching up with him almost at once, “Let's get some food?” He suggested, “and we can trade stories.”

 

They ended up in a diner, food mostly untouched between them. “So do you think it's him?” Sam asked.

“I think the guy is probably possessed. Crowley is insisting that it's Lucifer, but it may just be a demon he's lost control of and doesn't want to admit it. He has a way of lying to get what he wants. If he wants help this is one way to get it.”

“Yeah until the next time he needs help.”

“Whether it's Lucifer or just a demon, he is dangerous.” Cas said, “it would be better dealt with than to allow his behavior to continue.”

There was logic in it, there was also the part of him that wanted to insist that Cas stay as far from Crowley as possible, to not get tangled up any more with the politics of hell than he already was. “Just be careful okay, you know you can't trust Crowley either.”

“Trust isn't part of our arrangement. It's mutually beneficial.”

“What benefit could you possibly be getting from Crowley?”

“If I'm with him, then I know what he's doing.”

“Keep your enemy close, got it.” Sam said, “I don't like it though.”

“No one likes it. Crowley is grating at the best of times, and insufferable most of the time. Where's Dean?” Cas changed the subject fast enough to give Sam whiplash.

“Dean's visiting a friend whose been out hunting Nazi's the past couple years.” Sam said smiling slightly. “Says he's celebrating he just took out the last of the upper ranks of the organization. Supposedly they were trying to resurrect Hitler himself.”

“That seems like an ill conceived plan.” Cas said, “what would be the strategic advantage in it?”

“You got me, I have no idea how their minds work. The thing is, there's always going to be someone willing to carry that hate, it doesn't matter how many times you wipe out the organized hate, there's going to be someone that thinks what they did is okay. That thinks they had the right idea. They're celebrating, but you know, the fights not over.”

“You're being pessimistic.”

“I'm tired.” Sam said, “tired of having to fight, tired of not making any real progress. I just want to rest for a while.”

“So rest.” Cas urged, “you don't have to fight every battle. You and Dean, you're the best, but there are other hunters, other people to help fight.”

“I don't think I'm that kind of tired.” Sam answered, “I don't think rest is going to make me feel better.”

“You're depressed.” Cas diagnosed him, “It's not surprising, after everything you've been through.”

Sam couldn't argue, even though he didn't think Cas was quite right.

“Can we go outside? Being in fresh air is suppose to help.”

“Yeah,” Sam took the check, “I'll pay and meet you outside.”

Cas stepped into him as Sam stood up, his lips pressed soft and quick against Sam's, he didn't back away when he was done. He stood a fraction of an inch away watching Sam with soft eyed adoration, “ “Kissing is very pleasant.”

It was Sam that pulled away and glanced nervously around the cafe, no one had seemed to notice. They were practically alone except the waitress. Sam smiled and closed the distance to kiss Cas again, he nipped his angel's bottom lip playfully and felt the way Cas' breath dragged roughly in, like he'd momentarily forgotten how to breath.

 


	25. Chapter 25

The door to their motel room opened before Sam could slide his key into the lock. He was greeted with the over powering smell of weed and the expanse of pale skin broken by dark hair.

“Oh, you're back earlier than Dean said you'd be.” Aaron said glancing down nervously, his eyes landed on Cas.

Sam noticed the incredulous look on his angels' face a half a second before he asked, “Sam who is this and why is he not wearing pants?”

“This is Aaron.” Sam's mind was still trying to wrap around just why he was half stoned in their room, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers. In answer to the second question he whispered, “Dean's gay thing.”

There was an awkward moment, the other man flushed slightly pink and looked down again, “yeah, that happened.” he said quietly. Then looked up like he just thought of something, “I'm the guy that killed Hitler, who are you?”

“Sam's gay thing.” Dean answered for him from inside the darkened room. Dean at least was wearing blue jeans. He was untangling his shirt which made Sam wonder if beneath the reek of weed there was probably the smell of sex.

“Why don't you close the damn door?' Dean muttered finally breaking the trance they seemed to have fallen into.

Sam stepped past Aaron into the room, careful not to brush against him even accidentally. Cas followed him and the door was closed. The room was dim with the curtains drawn and the lights off. But it only took a few seconds to find the light switch.

“Where's the big guy?” Sam asked glancing around.

“I have him distracted,” Aaron glanced down, “I mean I thought it might be awkward with an audience.”

“What would be awkward?” Cas asked oblivious to the look that Aaron flashed toward Dean.

Sam glanced nervously over at his angel and willed him to stop asking questions. It was too rare to see Dean indulging in this side of himself. It wasn't the kind of thing that Sam could tease him about and he didn't know how comfortable his brother would be with Cas talking about it.

Dean shrugged and looked tired, “sex Cas, he means sex.”

“Oh,” Cas said, “did you know that throughout history sex has been a social event. Orgies, polygamist relationships, there are entire industries built around how much humans enjoy watching each other receive pleasure. I wouldn't think an audience would be that off putting.”

“Do you want one when the two of you are doing it?” Dean snapped.

“We haven't.” Cas stated bluntly, “but, if Sam were okay with it I would not be opposed to it.”

Sam felt Dean's eyes on him and tried not to fidget under the harshness of the gaze. “What do you mean you haven't?” He asked, “you've been sleeping together for months.”

Before Cas could give an awkward answer that would bring up more questions Sam said, “It's personal Cas, some people don't like to be watched.”

The answer seemed to suffice, but Dean's gaze had an edge to it that Sam didn't like, he looked away keeping from meeting his brother's eyes. It wasn't Dean's business whether he and Cas were having sex or not. It still felt like his brother was judging his choices and he didn't want to see those thoughts playing out on Dean's face.

“Well, I'm starving,” Dean announced.

Sam relaxed realizing that his brother was deflecting away from the subject before anything else could be said.

 

A stack of pizza boxes took up most of the small table in the room. There was the soft sound of snoring from the bed where Aaron had passed out. Cas had left, going back to rejoin Crowley on the hunt for a monster they all hoped was dead. Dean handed Sam a beer and sat down across from him, digging through the boxes again looking for the box they hadn't already devoured.

Sam watched lights shimmering on the wall behind his brother. It was the kind of thing he normally could avoid looking at and thinking too strongly about why he was seeing them, but it gave him something other than Dean to focus on.

“So,” Dean said pulling out a slice of pizza and dropping it on top of the box, “You want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Sam asked opening the beer, and dragging his eyes back to the table. Playing it cool, and hoping Dean didn't notice something was up.

“About the lack of sex between you and Cas.”

“Nothing to talk about.” Sam said, “Just hasn't felt right.”

Dean's eye brow raised in disbelieve and fell just as quick, “you expect me to buy that bullshit?” Dean asked before drawing a long pull from the neck of his own beer.

“I expect you to drop it.” Sam said, “it's not important.”

“Is it the angel thing? Or the guy thing? Or just because it's Cas? I mean I love the guy, but I can't imagine that squinting thing he does would be very attractive if you're trying to have sex.”

“Will you shut up?” Sam muttered, “Cas is fine, it's nothing he's done or hasn't done, or whatever, it just hasn't been right with all the stuff in my head.”

Dean let the words hang between them and waited for Sam to fill the silence with something resembling an explanation, but there really wasn't one he wanted to give. At least not one that he wanted Dean to hear.

There was a time when he would have told his brother anything, would have poured out all the thoughts in his head and troubles in his heart and let Dean help him sort them out, but there was a gap between them that had been widening over the years. The things he was afraid to say, the ways he was afraid of facing his brother's judgment, it wasn't his fault, but it felt like it was. Like if he'd been stronger maybe he wouldn't be quite so broken.

It was a slip, the first words came out so slowly he almost didn't realize he was talking. “Cas is great.” He said, “he's understanding, and patient, and loves me more than I even thought was possible. But I just can't, I feel like I'm suffocating, and I know that it's not real, but it's like I get caught back up in that basement, and I can't get out.”

“Why?” Dean asked, “why would being with Cas put you back there?”

Sam didn't meet his eyes, but he heard the intake of his brother's breath, ragged through his parted lips. Shocked, and disgusted, and he didn't have to see him to know that Dean would make a comment something about how hot the chick was or some joke about it that would make him feel worse.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, “no bullshit Sammy, really, how are you holding up?”

“I'm okay,” He lied.

 


	26. Chapter 26

The bunker was quiet without Cas. Sam found himself pacing, there was a list of things he didn't want to do that needed done. Hunters across the country were being contacted. Sam still wasn't sure they were doing the right thing, but it felt like it at least had the potential to make the hunts easier.

The phone rang and Sam grabbed it, steeling himself for a barrage of questions he had already answered a hundred times.

“Winchester.” The voice on the other end barked gruffly.

He was just hanging up when Dean walked in, “So, how do you feel about Canada?” He asked.

“What's in Canada?” Dean asked.

“Hunter's wake, for a guy named Asa Fox” Sam said, “we've been officially invited.”

“Isn't that the guy with the Wendigo story?”

“Think so.” Sam said trying to remember any thing else he had heard about him.

“Did you know him?”

“No.” Sam shook his head.

“Me neither.” Dean said, “so when's the funeral?”

 

The house was impressive, and huge for a hunter to call home. “It's a big house,”Sam commented to break the silence as the impala rolled into the drive. Dean answered him with a grunt and shoved the car door open. Sam followed him. The number of trucks parked haphazardly around the driveway implied the crowd they would find inside. Most of them were mud splattered, and well beaten. Marked with the proof of the lives they lived. They were unquestionably the hunters rides, though a few of the cars looked like they might belong to civilians a glossy Hundai was the one that looked completely out of place in the mix.

Dean knocked on the door with Sam close behind him. Throughout their lives they'd knocked on so many doors it was an old habit, to fall into stance to beg entry, for once they didn't need a cover story. The morbid thought crossed Sam's mind, to wonder how many people would come if he were to die. If anyone would even know.

With all his deaths he couldn't help but wonder if anyone other Dean and maybe Cas would mourn his final passing, or if the rest of the world would ever know. The door opened to the sound of music and laughter. A woman who looked both classy and drunk off her ass opened the door and looked them over, “more hunters.” she muttered, “well it's a house full of loud drunk hunters, and my son's dead body is in the parlor, but I haven't slit my wrists yet. Small victories.”

Sam ignored the smell of alcohol that surrounded her, “we're very sorry for your loss.” he offered.

“I know,” She said, “Everyone's sorry.” She didn't wait for an answer before walking off and leaving them to find their own way into the rest of the house. He didn't begrudge her the rudeness of her mourning. Pain has no patience for politeness.

Dean went followed the sounds of the crowd to the kitchen. Instead of following him Sam went to the living room. A couple were sitting at the couch when he walked in. Two sets of eyes raked over him at once, curious and attracted, but not threatening, he took a seat across from them. It was easy to fall into the conversation, after introductions were made, “so, how did you know Asa?” He asked. His eyes instinctively seeking out the doorway his brother had disappeared to.

“Our mom did some spell work for him, and we hunted with him a few times.”

It took a fraction of a second for his curiosity to be piqued, “Wait, so you guys were raised by a witch, but you're hunters?” For a second he was surprised he'd misread their relationship so completely. The way they were sitting pressed close together, the way they seemed to move almost in tandem seemed too much like a couple for it, but now that he heard they shared a mother he could see the resemblance in them.

“Yep,” they answered in unison. It reminded him in a comforting way of the closeness that him and Dean shared when things were good.

Max explained, “she was, like, a good witch. Very Enya. It was the 90's.”

“Lots of crystals,” his sister supplied and Max agreed. “She taught em to hunt witches.” before he could ask she clarified, “uh, bad witches.”

He smiled, “sure, and what did she teach you?' he looked at Max and saw the blatant confident interest.

“uh, mostly how to seduce men.” The interest in his eyes was clear and Sam found himself smiling in spite of himself.

“She also taught him some magic.” His sister offered, and with mock annoyance added, “which is actually more useful.”

Max shrugged, “mostly the men thing.”

There was something there. A spark of interest that caught him almost completely by surprise. It coiled in him.

The moment was short lived. It was almost like being pounced on by an over eager puppy, but not nearly as cute. A man moved between them. He looked like he was trying too hard to look like a cowboy. “Are you Sam Winchester? You are right? Oh this is nuts! Wow. Hi.”

Sam felt the first prickle of unease and fought to not pull away from the conversation.

“Hey,” he said not sure what else to say.

“Uh, Elvis, um Kats” he introduced himself quickly. His words almost ran together, but Sam caught the word Garth in relation to how the guy knew who he was.

“Well, he said, that she said, that Garth said, that you were possessed by the Devil. Like, Lucifer. The actual big-bad devil. And you lived?”

The rest of the conversation was a blur of white noise in his head. The instinct to run, but to not show the weakness was overwhelming. “I'm going to get a beer.” he said, offering the others one out of habit, but moving quickly before the conversation could be continued.

The kitchen was crowded and Sam didn't see his brother there so he kept moving, checking the rooms until he saw Dean. The noise in his head seemed to die down a little and he breathed a relieved sigh, and steeled himself to act normal when he walked in the room. Dean didn't need to know that he'd been upset by some dumb ass questions from someone who thought that being possessed by Lucifer was something to brag about.

“Hey.” He said, proud to hear his own voice was steady.

Dean didn't look up from what he was examining, “This is a real Angel blade.” He said, “I mean this guy was legit.”

Sam jumped right to the point, “Did you know people tell stories about us?” He wanted to get his brother's opinion on that before he told him what kind of stories they told.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “apparently we're a bit legendary.” he almost managed to look smug.

“Yeah, but I mean so was Asa, then a hunt went bad, and he ended up hanging from a tree, alone in the woods.” he didn't understand how Dean couldn't see there was something wrong with that.

“He died on the job.” Dean said, disappointing him, “no better way to go.”

“You really believe that?” he asked prying.

“Yeah, what, you don't? I mean com on Sam, it's not like we're in the “live till you're ninety die in your sleep” business. This?” He gestured around him at the proof of Asa's life's work, “This only ends one way”

It was so classic of Dean that Sam was surprised he'd expected anything else, “we should get back.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed and started for the door, “oh, uh don't say 'wendigo' to anyone.” Ht didn't need to know the details to guess that it had to be a game of some type.

It was close to the end of the party when the woman who had answered the door stumbled into the kitchen. She looked him over like he was something gross she'd found in her kitchen. “You're a Winchester?” She asked in a slur.

“I am.” Sam said prepared for some question about something that he had or hadn't done. What kind of things the mother of a hunter could have heard about him he couldn't guess, but he was ready to answer or deflect, or bolt which ever would do him the most good.

“I'm Lorraine Fox. Asa's Mom.”

“I'm Sam.”

she didn't seem to hear him, or wasn't listening. “Do you know a Mary Winchester?”

“She's uh, she's my mother.”

She made a scoffing noise, “you ever hear why my boy didn't become an astronaut?'” she didn't wait for his answer, “some woman named Mary Winchester saved him from a werewolf, and after that, hunting became his whole life.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You should be.” She said, “he never married, never had family, kids. You have any of that?”

“no.” Sam said.

“Figures, Mary couldn't just ruin her own boys, she had to ruin mine also.” She put a box into his hands “Here, Asa wrote these to her over the years, but couldn't send them, the bitch was so mysterious, maybe you can give them to her, let her know what she's done.”

“Asa made his own choices.” He said trying to be gentle, but wanting to make her understand, “he helped a lot of people.”

She didn't look impressed by any of that, instead she said in a flat dead tone, “enjoy the wake” and walked away leaving him with his own thoughts.

He flipped through the post cards leaned against the kitchen counter. The sound of a throat clearing behind him made him turn so abruptly he almost dropped the box. He caught it, but a few of the cards spilled out on the floor at his feet.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” Max offered, bending down to pick up the cards. He looked up at Sam and smiled his tongue found his lip. Sam was fairly certain he was seeing first hand the seduction skills that the hunter had bragged about.

“So,” he said, handing back the cards, “now that I have you alone, you want to talk spell work? Or how about we go somewhere a little less depressing to get to know each other.”

“I'm seeing someone.” Sam said.

“Oh,” he watched the shuttered look fall momentarily over the other man's face, “and does she know how lucky she is?”

“I think he might.” Sam said and smiled, “I know how lucky I am at least.”

Max's eyes drifted half shut, “do you know how lucky you could get?” He asked his fingertips tracing over the edge of the box in Sam's hands.

“I think I've got an idea.” Sam agreed, “but I have to pass.”

“A man of integrity, I can respect that.” Max said, “but if you ever change your mind,” he pushed a piece of paper into the top of the box, “I would love to trade spell work with you. I know a ruin that you can draw with your tongue and it's effects are...” he let it trail off, before saying, “orgasmic.” with a wink.

“Thanks, but um.”

“I know, thanks but no thanks.” He laughed, and it wasn't as awkward as it should have been. Or as it could have been with almost anyone else, it was easy to be comfortable in Max presence.

“You can call to talk about the other kind of spell work, I'm not as good as My sister, but I really think that we could discuss protective ruins. I mean what's your favorite kind of devil's trap?

“In a bind, standard pentagram, nothing fancy, it's quick to draw and I could probably do it in my sleep. I might have a few times.”

Max smiled, “see I like a Fifth pentacle of Mars, it's got more character.”

“Because character is really what matters when a demon's on your ass.” Alicia interrupted from the door.

“Some people just don't understand the beauty in the symbols. It's a matter of pride, and style, and the sheer skill to remember and execute the perfect trap. You know what I'm talking about.” He said to Sam.

“I agree, if you have time, it's definitely a more interesting trap, it can contain higher powered demons for longer and is harder to break, but for most demons a simple trap is enough to hold them until you can say the exorcism.

“oh, the exorcism is a whole other conversation.” Max winked, “you prefer Latin or Sanskrit.”

“I'm more comfortable with Latin. But I can work with either.”

“A man of many talents.” Max said, “looks, and brains your boy is lucky.”

“Okay Romeo,” Alicia said, “it's time for us to hit the road, we've got a long drive home.”

“Me and Dean should probably hit the road also, Kansas isn't exactly a short walk.” He regretted having to end the conversation, “but I'll call you and we can talk shop.”

He found himself smiling as Max followed his sister out of the kitchen. He picked up the rest of the cards and put them back in the box. Max's number was fished out and saved into his phone, the paper was tucked safely into his pocket before he went to find Dean.

His brother was leaning against the car with a flask in hand. “Go away.” he muttered without looking.

“You're not the boss of me.” Sam said then caught the stupid smile still on his face, “what's going on with you?”

“Talked to mom.” Dean said, “She says she's using the journal to follow our lives. You know, instead of just _asking_ us.”

Sam put his hand on his brother's arm, an offer of comfort that Dean didn't shrug off, “You ready to get out of here?”

“God yes,” Dean said jerking the car door open.

“You okay to drive?' Sam asked.

“Get in the car bitch.” Dean said the corner of his mouth quirked into a dying smile.

“Don't want you wrecking your Baby.” Sam teased. He only hesitated a fraction of a second before whispering “Jerk” almost too quietly for his brother to hear.

 


	27. Chapter 27

“So what did mom say?” Sam asked once they were on the road. The miles stretching between them and home.

“Nothing much.” Dean answered reaching for the radio. It was always his go to for hard conversations he wanted to avoid. Of course he also just liked to fill the silence with the music they'd been carrying with them their entire lives.

They fell into silence while Dean avoided answering questions about Mary. Sam almost wished that it wasn't so familiar. “So,” He said, reaching for the volume knob again, “we're back to not talking about mom?”

“Shut up.” Dean said but he smiled a little, “she just didn't have anything to say worth hearing. She's driving to places that Dad mentioned in his journal, checking things out. I actually think she's making sure he got the jobs done, but I don't think she'd ever admit that.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I don't know.” he said, “something about the way she talked about it. Like she didn't expect him to be able to fight his way out of paper bag or something.” It's so easy to forget that the person she knew wasn't the same as the one that we grew up with until she starts talking about him, like he's some civilian. Like he wasn't the best damn hunter I ever knew. But then she didn't want to hear that either.

Sam flipped through the box of post cards almost absentminded, trying to think of something to say to the deluge of information Dean had just dropped on him.

“I think she may just be trying to feel closer to him.”

“Whatever,” Dean muttered, “if she wants to feel close to someone she can come back home. And we can tell her all about the kind of hunter he turned into.”

“Dean...” Sam let it trail off. She didn't want to. It was as simple as that. It didn't matter what excuses they were given. Their mom was still holding onto the life that she'd left behind.

“What's that?” Dean asked after a few minutes.

“Letters from Asa.” Sam said then smiled, “to mom, apparently she's the reason he became a hunter. She saved his life.”

Dean nodded, “sounds like mom.”

“Dean, she saved him in 1980, that's after you were born.” He tried to explain why that was a big deal but Dean glared at him in response. Sam sighed, wishing that for once Dean was willing to listen without getting upset when he didn't hear what he wanted to, “I'm not trying to piss you off I'm just saying, that I don't think she can stop, any more than we can.”

 


	28. Chapter 28

Home didn't quite feel the same waiting for Cas to call with news. Sam found himself searching for cases to distract both him and Dean.

Dean was playing on his phone, he tried not to feel the spark of irritation. “Seriously?”

“What?” Dean was still looking at the phone.

“So I've been trying to dig up info on the British Men of Letters, keeping an eye out for cases, and you've been goofing off with a game that went out of style five years ago?”

“I don't think Mom's quite ready for Snapchat.” Dean said looking back at the phone.

“You're playing against Mom?” If they were talking she'd probably said a lot more to Dean than the 'nothing much' he'd told Sam.

“Yeah,” Dean didn't bother giving any explanation on how they went from barely talking to playing phone games together.

“The same Mom that didn't know what a cell phone was a month ago?”

Dean agreed.

“That doesn't exactly seem like a fair fight,” Sam pointed out and was immediately proven wrong by Dean losing.

“You were saying?” Dean asked irritated.

“Huh,” Sam was proud of her, and seeing Dean lose a game was always a little amusing to him. “So how's she been lately?” He asked hoping for more details than Dean had given him before.

“She's good. You know, she – she's dealing.” He said vaguely.

Before Sam could ask anything else Dean's phone rang.

He hit the button on it looking at Sam, “Hey Cas.”

Sam pulled out his phone and saw there wasn't a missed call from him. Slightly confused and trying to not feel jealous he dropped the phone in his pocket.

“You still living out an '80's buddy comedy with Crowley?” Dean asked smirking at Sam.

“Unfortunately.” Cas's irritation came through loud and clear.

“Any news on Lucifer?” Sam asked making it clear that he was there.

“Actually, yes. Look at the news.” Cas said. It took a few seconds to bring it up.

“No way, so this is from today?” He asked watching the report.

“Tell me that's not Lucifer.” Dean said.

“We don't know.” Cas said.

“Hello boys,” Crowley's voice interrupted, “you don't call, you don't write.”

“Yeah, We don't care.” Dean reminded him.

“Crowley,” Sam said his name to get his attention. “Lucifer.”

“Think about it. Of all the extinct rock acts, Ladyheart are the most Paleolithic. A major label sponsored comeback for those dinosaurs? It doesn't feel wholly like a natural turn of events does it?”

“Deals can be made.” Cas said.

“Not without me knowing about it.” Crowley said.

“What makes you think it's Lucifer?” Dean asked, “I mean what the hell?”

“He's in L.A. I'll see you there.” Crowley said, the call disconnected before the could say anything else.

 


	29. Chapter 29

Walking into the lobby of the hotel they were meeting Cas and Crowley at felt a little like walking to the gallows. It was an echo of the same feeling Sam had gotten when he asked Lucifer to help them take down Amara. It was eased only slightly by the solid presence of Dean next to him.

The irritation his brother felt at the city for existing, and the way that he rolled his eyes at the water dispenser, helped put him at ease, if Dean wasn't afraid, then he didn't have any reason to be.

Cas showed up before they could thoroughly discuss why flavored water was such a bad thing, but Sam filed it away for things to talk about on the drive home. It was a relief to see him in one piece even if he did look miserable.

Dean was quick to comment, “You consider switching up your duds there? Bit stiff for this town.”

“He could be an agent or something.” Sam defended him.

“Yeah, maybe a third-tier agent.”

“At least I don't look like a lumberjack.” Cas countered.

It wasn't even playful banter, it was like somehow in the half a second that it took Cas to approach them, both Cas and dean had gotten pissed off at each other. Dean he could understand. There was something about L.A. That was a personal affront to his masculinity. It was stupid considering how well Dean had fit in as a P.A. On the last case they had worked in the city.

To stop the name calling from devolving even farther Sam distracted Cas by asking, “Where's Crowley?”

It was pretty clear by the look on his face, his true problem wasn't with Dean at all, it was with the demon. “He said he'd meet us here. Frankly, I appreciate the break. It's been weeks and he's been right there, just talking and talking and talking. It's relentless.”

For a creature of infinite patience Cas had very little to spare for Crowley. Like he was a reminder of something that the angel would rather forget.

“Don't listen to him.” Crowley said from behind Cas. He sighed dramatically, “Feathers and I are all but inseparable now.”

If it was a dig at the relationship between Sam and Cas it failed to hit its mark. Sam tried not to smirk at the disgust on Cas face.

“You find anything?” He asked Crowley trying to keep the case on track and off their petty disagreements.

“Yes. Vince Vincente is riding with the devil.” He said confidentially.

“So now what?” Cas asked.

Crowley held up a key card, “I suggest we go check out his room.”

“How'd you get the card?” Dean asked.

“This is L.A. I know a lot of people.” Crowley explained.

Sam couldn't help but thinking that if the “king” of hell couldn't magically come up with a working key card for a hotel something was seriously wrong with the power of hell. Well wrong probably wasn't the right word for it. More like the universe was finally moving in the right direction.

 


	30. Chapter 30

The room smelled like sex. It was the first thing that he noticed. Thick and cloying it was clear it hadn't been cleaned yet. There were clothes scattered everywhere.

“It looks like there was some kind of fight.” Cas observed. Sam wondered if he was really that innocent or if he was ignoring the lingering odors.

The room was too white. Hotel rooms were suppose to be dingy, have some color to hide the questionable stains, things were suppose to be cheap and easy to clean, but everything about the room screamed decadence and expense.

A stack of books caught his attention. “Look at this,” he said, “rock star biographies, like, all of them, from Aerosmith to ZZ Top. It's like he's studying how to become famous.”

“Well so what, Lucifer's a dork?” Dean said.

“That's good to know.” Sam wasn't thinking about Lucifer any more. This was something else. “I don't get it. Lucifer could be talking over Heaven and Hell right now, and instead he's trying to act out some rock god fantasy?”

“Yeah, who wouldn't?” Dean asked playing with a guitar.

“Lucifer.” Sam said, “this is small time compared to what Lucifer would do. He doesn't want to be a rock star he wants to be god. If it was Lucifer he'd be focused on something a little more world wide and a little less, one band washed out band with a limited reach. Demon sure? But Lucifer? This is so out of character for Lucifer I think it's ridiculous we're even considering the possibility.”

“You just keep telling yourself that Samantha,” Crowley said, “I know this is difficult for you, but with your history I don't think you're really seeing the big picture here. Lucifer wants to be worshiped. This,” he gestured around the room, “this is the smell of worship.”

 


	31. Chapter 31

If the hotel smelled like sex, the hospital was the opposite. It had the stringent antiseptic smell that was the same in every medical facility from one end of the country to the other. The doctor they were talking to was trying to was explaining that she carved his name into her chest. If he wasn't certain before the Lucifer wasn't the one possessing the rock start that was the final nail in the coffin. If it was Lucifer he would have made her carve his true name in her skin, not the name of the vessel he was possessing. His ego would never let him do that. The problem that left was what game was Crowley running.

The woman looked fairly normal for someone who had just committed an act of self mutilation. Dean took the lead, encouraged her to talk. “We wanna understand what happened, but in order for us to do that, we need you to talk.”

Sam could see that she was already shutting down instead of hearing what his brother had to say, locking down what she thought or felt about what had happened into some corner of her mind so she could handle it and process it.

“Roseleen, did Vince force you to do this?” He asked it gently, giving her the opportunity to take the word force and understand what he really meant, not with a word, but with power outside. The way that demons make people do things, if it happened, then she would have some where to start.

“No.” she said, and it caught him off guard, the anger in her voice, “Vince didn't. He wouldn't have to. I wanted to, to show him, to make him happy.”

“You ever stop to wonder what kind of sicko gets happy off of watching somebody melon ball their own flesh?” Dean asked disgusted.

“Don't talk about Vince like that. He had a reason,a good reason, he must have. I'm sure he can explain everything.” there was panic in her voice, the doubt was creeping in, doubt being the enemy of blind faith, 'If I could just see him.” She tried to stand up, trying to move through the pain that Sam knew she must be feeling, “I need to get to the show.”

They stopped her from leaving the room, but the echoes of her begging to be let go chased him out of the hospital room.

 

It was a relief to see Cas waiting when they got back to the lobby, it was unsettling to see her desperation, to see how brainwashed Roseleen was. “Apparently there's going to be a show.” Dean said, “I think we just witnessed the warm up.”

“What do you mean?”

“She did it to herself.” Sam said, trying to stop the way his skin crawled at the thought, “worse, she did it willingly. She wanted to do it, because he asked her to.”

“Self mutilation is fairly common among your species, especially among the young and mentally unstable, there is an entire cultural phenomena called cutting, there's the tattoo's and body modification “arts” that are a global pandemic. Humanity is particularly adapt at ignoring the pain of it for the endorphin rush that comes from blood letting.” Cas was talking, continuing to explain some mundane history thing that Sam just couldn't bring himself to care about.

“This wasn't that, he asked her to carve his name in her chest, and she did it.”

Cas nodded, “so the show is tonight?”

“That's what she said,” Sam said feeling calmer.

“Can Lucifer even sing, or play an instrument?” Cas asked contemplating the possibility.

“I doubt they offer intro to guitar in the cage.” Dean said, not considering the possibility that he could access the knowledge the vessel already had.

“Like it matters,” Crowley interrupted, “What he made that woman do has got nothing to do with music. It's about devotion.”

“Come again.” Dean said, but Sam already got it. She did what he asked because she was obsessed, because she worshiped the rock star unknowing that there was some monster riding shot gun, and even when the monster revealed itself took its pleasure in her pain, she still loved him. Still wanted to please him. No matter what it cost her.

Crowley had to have his say though, “You little people wouldn't understand, but I've been a king. Having people look at you like you're everything, knowing that once they buy in, you can make them do anything, it's intoxication.”

“Well that's super creepy,” Dean said.

There was something oddly past tense about the way Crowley spoke of his kingship. It made him wonder if Crowley was possibly not as in charge as he was pretending to be. That might be why he was still pretending they were chasing Lucifer when pretty much everything made it clear that it wasn't the arch angel they were facing, but something else, something motivated by a different type of worship.

Cas asked, “okay so this concert, all these people, what is – what is Lucifer planning to do?”

“Nothing good.” Sam said.

Cas turned to Crowley, “is Rowena –“

Crowley shook his head slightly, “dear Mother says that once we catch Lucifer she'll show, no sooner.”

Sam doubted that Rowena would show up no matter what they found or who asked for her. After the end of the world the witch had seemed pretty determined to drop off the map for a while.

“Without Rowena, we're outgunned.” Dean said.

“With her we're outgunned,” Crowley corrected.

“It doesn't matter,” Sam said, Rowena might make a difference against Lucifer, but against whatever was possessing Vince. “This is our shot, we just gotta find out where he's playing tonight.”

 


	32. Chapter 32

Crowley was gone to talk to one of his contacts giving Sam a chance to actually talk to his brother, “Listen this isn't Lucifer.” He said, “so we have to figure out what we're actually up against before tonight.”

“You're sure?” Dean asked, “I mean Crowley is pretty damn insistent.”

“That's my point, he is too insistent. Whoever this is it doesn't act like Lucifer. Lucifer isn't going to go play rock star when he could be taking over heaven. He's not going to be having some girl carve his vessel's name in her chest, that's not his style, and you know it. Psychological torture sure, physical torture, absolutely,. But that that's not him.”

“Okay, so we work this like any other case when we're not dealing with Crowley, and pretend we're buying his bullshit to his face? I'm in. I guess we need to figure out what we're dealing with before tonight”

\---

 

Working on a deadline had a way of making it easier for Sam to not think about everything that was going on. It was easier now that he was sure it wasn't Lucifer he was dealing with to shut down the nagging worry, and focus on the case itself.

“Just keep this between us,” Dean had said, “Crowley thinking we believe him is the one advantage we have over him right now.”

“It was a fraction of a second on one of the hotel's security camera's, the video distorted just before Vince walked by, his eyes flashed black for a fraction of a second though Sam had to admit even to himself that it wasn't enough to be a hundred percent sure that they were dealing with a demon.

“It fits,” Dean said, “Whoever it is, Crowley is gunning for, he's clearly got a thing for sex and violence. If it's not Lucifer then it's probably someone else that Crowley needs to take out, another Abaddon wanna be.”

“Ever get the feeling that Crowley is using us to enforce his ruler ship? I mean what would he do without us to take out all his competition?” Sam asked off handed.

“Yeah, I've gotten that impression.” Dean agreed. “So do we tell him to deal with it himself?”

Sam considered it for a second before saying, “Whether it's Crowley's competition or not, people will die if we don't stop him. I mean you know, Saving people is what we do. We can't just let them die because Crowley brought us the case.”

“I guess you have a point,” Dean said, “alright, well now we just need to figure out where the show is so we can take out the demon.”

“What are we going to do about Crowley?” Sam asked, “we can't keep letting him come running to us every time he loses control.”

Dean shrugged, “He's been useful.”

“Yeah, but he's still evil, I mean Crowley is not the kind of person that we should have to deal, what are we going to have to do when he doesn't think we're useful anymore.'

“We'll deal with it when the time comes. For now, Crowley still has resources we don't.”

 


	33. Chapter 33

The meet up couldn't have gone worse. None of them managed to find the location of the show. The tension was thick. Dean ran a hand through his hair, tugging in irritation before turning to Crowley, “I thought you put the fear in Russell.”

“I thought I had, These yoga types, just when you think you've harshed their mellow--” Crowley trailed off. He was entirely too unfazed by finding out that someone he thought was in his pocket wasn't willing to give up information for him.

The manager that Sam and Dean had talked to had no interest in sharing anything. Calling her client evil if anything almost seemed to make her proud.

Dean barked, “so we couldn't flip a single member of Vince's team. Even with the threat of mass murder, these SoCal douchebags won't do the right thing.”

“Welcome to Los Angeles,” Crowley quipped.

“So what happens now?” Cas asked.

“We keep trying.” Sam said, already looking for places that would be the right size venue for the size of the crowd they were expecting, as an after thought he said, “someone knows where the show is, i'll see if I can hack the email for the manager.”

“To do that you'd have to know her email address.” Dean said.

Sam smiled and pulled her business card out of his pocket, “believe it or not, I have that covered. It's almost like I've done this before.”

 

It took a few minutes, but they managed to get the address. They were already heading out when Cas's phone notification went off.

“It's Tommy,” Cas said, “He just verified the location.”

“it took him long enough, guess his conscience got the better of him.”

“Or Vince did something bad enough he couldn't ignore it anymore,” Sam suggested.

The outside of the bar didn't look like the kind of place a mass murder was about to go down. But then they never do.

Getting in wasn't nearly as hard as it should have been. For a rock concert security was pretty lax, but then again if the star of the show was planning on murdering all the attendants, maybe he wasn't as picky about who showed up as he could have been.

“What's the plan?” Crowley asked.

Cas held up a pair of handcuffs.

“Enochian handcuffs? That's your move?” He scoffed.

“They held me.” Cas said, looking back at the building.

“You're not him.” Crowley said, agitated.

“We have no sure bets here.” Dean said, “anything we use is gonna be like popping BBs.”

Sam almost forgot that they weren't really going against lucifer, that they had other ways of fighting what was inside other than just hoping whatever they threw at it worked. They were going to have to put a stop to the massacre to come, stop the monster that was perpetrating it, and figure out what the hell Crowley was trying to get them into.

“Great pep talk.” Crowley said, “Go Team.”

Sam reminded them their purpose was about more than just stopping the monster, they had to save everyone also.

“I'll take Lucifer. He's my responsibility,” Cas said, Sam's heart ached, he wanted to tell his boyfriend the truth, but to keep Crowley from suspecting something was amiss Cas had to believe the lie as well.

“No, he's not.” Sam said, starting to tell him, then caught himself, “He's all of our responsibility.”

The look Dean gave him told him that it was a good save, but a close call.

Cas gave him a look that was part appeal and part apology, “The only way you'll clear that crowed without drawing fire is if he's otherwise engaged.”

“Engaged in what Cas? Killing you? You're not super powered anymore, you're just a regular guy now.”

“He's right Cas, you'll last three minutes tops.”

Cas smiled sadly, “then I'll buy you three minutes.”

“Make it four.” Crowley said, then responded to the surprise Sam could feel on his own face, “What I help.” Cas started to walk away, Sam watched him go wishing that he could tell his angel the truth without blowing their cover.

Crowley grabbed his arm as he walked by, “Don't worry, I'll keep him safe.”

It was a relief to hear it, even if he knew it was bullshit, somehow he found himself actually believing that Crowley would keep him safe from whatever they were facing. For some reason he seemed invested in Cas's continued survival despite the fact they were low key enemies.

 


	34. Chapter 34

The plan was simple, get in, pull the fire alarm get everyone out before the doors could lock behind them. He could see Dean in the crowd trying to turn the tide of it, but no one was listening to him. Two security guards were making their way toward Dean. Sam waited till they were about half way through the crowd before making his way to the fire alarm.

His heart beat picked up a half a step before he reminded himself that this was his purpose, he saved people. The alarms blared to life, hope in a screaming bell. The crowd started moving. He felt relief wash over him as the first few people made it past the door. They weren't home free, but they were moving in the right direction.

The hope was short lived as the music started blaring over the sound of the alarms. The people that had been heading for the door thought it was part of the show and turned back toward the stage. The alarms cut off, sparks flew from the pull switch beside Sam. He flinched away from the shower of sparks.

“Hello L.A.!” Vince screamed into a microphone walking onto the stage to the roar of applause from the damned.

Dean fired his gun into the ceiling. It took a second shot for them to get the message and people started moving again. Sam urged the ones within ear shot toward the door. It was almost in slow motion the way they started to close. Without thought he threw himself between them pushing against the power that was pulling them closed. There was a breaking point, where his muscles felt like they should give out. A scream of some primal emotion tore from him and he pushed back, pushed with all his physical strength.

It felt like warmth spilling through his veins as the pressure pushing against him seemed to recede. People filed past him quickly mindless of the forces working against each other. The doors shuttered and jerked. He kept his palms flat on the wood. The last one escaped and he felt the exhaustion flood him. His head throbbed with it. Unexpected. He felt light headed and a little nauseous. But he'd done it, had held firm against the power that was trying to force him down.

The problem was he didn't think he could force the doors back open, Dean and Cas were still in the building, and Crowley was theoretically there somewhere as well.

There was the twang of a guitar meeting the solid wall of the rocker's body. A fraction of a second later Cas was thrown off the stage and landed roughly on the floor below. There was a heartbeat where he could have said something, instead there was a raging smile and he stepped forward. Moving toward Dean.

Crowley appeared in the next instant standing to one side of the stage. Cas staggered back to his feet pulling out an angel blade and falling into a fighting stance.

Sam caught the shimmer of the blade as it spun artistically in his hand. Dean held up the handcuffs, dangled them off one finger like a threat.

“Crowley,” The rocker growled, “siccing your dogs on me was a low trick even for you.”

Crowley shrugged unaffected, .”it gets the job done.”

The room stood still for a moment, breaths held in suspense, Sam realized only Cas was unaware that the thing they were facing wasn't the arch angel.

The exorcism started spilling out of his mouth with the ease and familiarity of breathing. He saw the flicker of emotion on Crowley's face that melted into a smirk. Dean joined in a half a second later.

Cas turned to face Sam, Sam nodded. Cas voice fell into harmony with theirs and black smoke billowed out of the body caught in the spell.

The silence that followed was thick with the things unsaid.

“Well, until next time,” Crowley said before disappearing in a flash.

Sam didn't want to be the one to check the body, but he had to know. He let himself hope for the fraction of a second until he saw the death blinded eyes. There was a mottled look to his skin that suggested he'd been gone for a while.

It was hard to accept they'd never had a hope of saving him.

 


	35. Chapter 35

Sam lay awake staring at shadows on the walls. Cas was lying beside him breathing slowly and deeply his eyes closed. The lines in his face had eased away. For once he didn't look troubled by the world they lived in. He watched the steady fall of his boyfriend's chest and smiled remembering the lilt to his voice when Cas had told him he'd forgotten how to breath. It was a disturbingly perfect moment for him.  
  
Still sleep was elusive. He was waiting for the moment. That spark of ignition where all the good in his life invariably went up in flames and he was left choking on the smoke. The edges of his vision danced with flames that were drawn from his own imagination, memory or nightmare it was all the same.  
  
He expected to feel regret, for a moment it's absence left a strange taste in his mouth. He let himself watch Cas and wonder why it was the former angel that gave him a moments peace.  
  
It was a different kind of love. The tangle of emotions that he was trying to sort through didn't feel urgent, but it was interesting. Layers of history, and friendship, and companionship, and now he added wistfully sex. Had build into one of the most unique relationships he'd ever experienced.  
  
Cas had patience bred of millennia of existence, and yet sometimes he seemed completely innocent of the degradation and horrors that he had to have witnessed in that time. Like the very experience of living through those moments hadn't tainted his existence the way it had Sam's in only a handful of years by comparison.  
  
It felt like he was awake for hours replaying every moment trying to commit it to memory, while at the same time searching for some verification that it was real, or worse, proof that it wasn't. He was as sure as he could be though, so he filed away his fears for later. Let himself live in the moment, even while waiting for the fire to consume him.  
  
Cas slept peacefully beside him. If Cas could sleep after all he'd been through and all he'd seen. Sam tried to let himself be more like Cas, tried to find the place where he could get just enough peace from the horrors in his own past to finally rest.


	36. Chapter 36

Walking into the room Sam was pretty sure that he'd walked into the wrong place. The lights were off, but the room was bathed in the soft white glow of a handful of tealight candles. They were placed evenly across the top of dresser the tv was sitting on. The flicker of light reflected in the mirror on the other wall, casting dancing light back across the room.

“Cas?” He didn't to find his angel in the room, but Cas stepped out of the bathroom. For a second Sam was overwhelmed by it. He was wearing a plain t-shirt and a pair of soft pajama pants, but between the glow of the candles and the hopefulness on his face it took Sam's breath away.

“What is this?” Sam asked unable to look at the room with the way his eyes seemed to be stuck on water still clinging to Cas' neck from his shower.

“Dean suggested it.” He said flatly, “shows of romantic affection are apparently important to him.”

He gestured to the bed that was covered in a pile of something. Sam got a good look at it for the first time and realized that it was dvd cases.

“I couldn't decide which one you would like so I got all of them.”

“All of what?”

It might have been the lighting but he could have sworn Cas turned a shade or two pinker when he said, “There was a list of the top 25 movies about dogs.”

“You bought 25 movies.”

Cas looked away from him and there was just enough guilt on his face that Sam didn't press it.

“I thought that we could watch them all, and we can discuss them until I know which one you like best. Next time I should be able to pick easier.”

“You know watching all of these might take days.” Sam said.

Cas smile lit up brightly, “It might.” he agreed, “we can wait to watch them until we get home, or extend our stay.”

The idea of staying longer in the room didn't matter to him one way or another, most of his life had been spent in motel rooms. A few extra days really wouldn't change anything. But the idea of spending days curled up in his own bed with Cas, watching movies and actually having in depth intelligent conversation about them, was probably the most enticing thing he could think of.

“We can start watching them tonight and finish them at home.” he offered.

The offer seemed to please Cas. He grabbed one of the cases without actually looking at it and shoved it into Sam's hands, “I forgot something.” He said leaving Sam to open the dvd while he went to the mini fridge.

Cas put a plastic container of strawberries on the bedside table, it was joined by a couple other small bowls and a bottle of something wrapped in a towel.

“Are you planning on getting me drunk and taking advantage of me?” Sam asked.

Cas paled, “I would never do something like that to you...”

“Cas, it's okay, I was joking.” Sam said, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. “I know you wouldn't. It was just something to say.”

“Oh,” Cas paused for so long Sam thought the conversation was over before he said, “some people use humor to cope with traumatic experiences, making light of it as if though it doesn't affect them.”

It was easy to fall into a comfortable place on the bed, with Cas sitting close beside him. They didn't have wine glasses so they made do with the small Styrofoam coffee cups.

They shared the bowl between them. Sugar, whipped cream, and chocolate alternated between the bites, the sweetness was a decadence that Sam rarely indulged in. but the strawberries tasted sweeter when they were fed to him by Cas' fingertips. His tongue lazily traced the drop of red juice that had slipped down the between the v of his boyfriends fingers.

The sticky sweetness was almost as delightful as the soft content sigh Cas hadn't meant to make at the feel of Sam's tongue dancing over his fingers.

Fingertips found their way into his hair, rubbing and tugging gently at the strands until Sam found himself laying on his back with his head on his angel's lap.

“Stay there,” Cas growled playfully before balancing the bowl of strawberries on Sam's stomach. He trailed a sugar coated piece of fruit against Sam's lip for a fraction of a second.

When it was gone he caught Cas' wrist and pulled his hand back to his mouth to nip at the pad of his fingertip.

Want curled it's way through him, warm and intoxicating. The movie played on forgotten in the background when Sam sat up and carefully placed the bowl of berries on the bedside table before he shifted to face Cas,. “I want you.” He said softly, let the weight of the words darken them.

“Okay,” Cas breath was a rumbling gasp of noise. There was a long moment when neither of them moved, the words hanging between them in the air. It was an act of courage for Sam to reach for Cas. He grabbed his face between his hands and leaned forward closing the space between them. For a fraction of a second Cas didn't react at all, frozen in place while Sam coaxed him into a response. The hand that reached for him was warm and solid against his shoulder, not pushing him away nor pulling him closer.

When the kiss broke Sam could feel the gentle squeeze that was meant as reassurance, “are you sure?”

Cas asked cautiously, “don't do anything because you feel you have to, or you owe it or anything, is this what you want.”

He nodded, “yes, please stop asking.” The words came out a groan of mock exasperation, covering how glad he was to hear them.

Their shirts were stripped away slowly. Sam drank in the sight of toned muscle, it was almost strange how not strange it was. He let his fingertips explore the expanse of Cas' chest and stomach, dipping beneath the waist line of his pants but going no farther, before sliding back up his sides. He pressed forward his weight and hands guiding Cas back down onto the mattress.

Blue eyes that had seen incomprehensible things looked at him with equal parts reverence and hunger. Sam kissed him again a slow exploration of Cas' mouth. Drinking in the taste of him like he was afraid he'd never get to taste his lips again. He moved down to rake his teeth against the pulse in Cas' neck, biting just hard enough for him to feel it, and loving the warm taste of his skin against his lips. Cas moaned unexpectedly and arched into his lips. Sam couldn't stop the slight smile but he didn't back off, instead he bit down a little harder and wondered what Dean would say if he left a hickey on his boyfriend.

He restrained the urge to leave a mark on the perfect skin and let his lips trail farther down, pressing chaste kisses against his collar bones. He reached for Cas' pants without a thought, urging them over hips that were rolling toward him in hungry anticipation.

The plain white boxers were obscenely pressed around the outline of Cas cock. Sam reached for it without slowing down, his lips back on Cas' while he rubbed the hard line through the thin cotton. Desire coiled low in him and he ached for some kind of friction on his own. He rolled his hips down pressing against the side of Cas leg.

“We're going to need lube.” he whispered against slack lips.

Cas eyes cut to the table, before he said, “in there.”

It was hard to drag himself away, but he did. While he was up Sam stripped off his own pants and dug through the drawer until he found the bottle of lube. The plastic wrap still around the top was a pain in the ass to remove. But a few seconds later he was back on the bed. He pushed Cas' boxers down his legs before taking off his own.

He poured a generous amount of lube into his palm. With a sure hand he slicked Cas shaft before reaching for himself. It was an alien experience trying to find the right rhythm to stroke Cas with one hand and himself with the other. Cas was too overwhelmed by the experience to give him much help either way. His eyes were squeezed closed and his hips lifted up off the bed, arching slightly into each stroke, like he couldn't be still, but didn't know what he should do either.

His mind played through how they could do the act itself. As badly as he wanted to bury himself in his angel, he didn't think that Cas would be ready to handle that. It was a split second choice driven more by intuition than thought. He let go of both of their cocks and reached for the lube. Nerves almost made him drop it.

He felt Cas eyes on him while he prepped, it made him flush from something like embarrassment, he wanted to rush through it and just get it over with, but he knew if he did he'd regret it quickly. He forced himself to relax and do the job properly. Before adding more lube to Cas' cock.

“I'm going to ride you, okay?” He said, as if it weren't already obvious by what he'd just done.

Cas nodded, “please.” he pleaded.

Sam moved to straddle his waist, one hand wrapped around the base of the angel's cock, the other keeping him balanced above him. He rolled his hips and felt the tip pressing against him. When it felt like he was finally lined up right he pressed back slowly sinking down. It was almost too much, and as slow as he went it still felt far too quickly. He was stretched just enough to ache in a way that promised if he moved before he relaxed that ache would blossom into a burn.

If Sam's eyes weren't closed he might have noticed how still Cas had become sooner. He shifted slightly and heard the gasp from his angel.

“You alright?” Sam asked imagining that he was too heavy for the former angel.

“I'm good, I just forgot how to breath for a moment.” Cas smiled at him, his hands stroked lightly up Sam's thighs.

Sam smiled back and rolled his hips slightly, it was getting easier to move, discomfort already blossoming into something more pleasant.

He reached for Cas' hand and guided it to his cock wrapping both their hands around himself he groaned, then whispered, “Let me remind you.”

Cas answered with another gasping moan and arched into a slow, careful thrust.


	37. Chapter 37

“Are you hungry?” Dean asked without giving them a chance to answer. “I'm hungry, we should go eat to celebrate.”

Sam didn't argue with his brother. Instead he felt the soft touch of Cas' hand against his own and let himself take in the moment. He kept himself upright, fighting an urge to just sink against Cas and to whisper all the thoughts that were eating at him. Instead he tangled their fingers together and felt the warm, solid presences of his angel next to him.

Being able to touch Cas was a quiet comfort.

It felt like they'd been apart for far too long. The meal passed in almost complete silence. Dean's eyes lingered on the waitress for too long. She brought them their receipt and Dean turned it around showing Sam the number scrawled across the top in a jagged handwriting.

“I think I may have plans for the rest of the night.” He said suggestively, “so the two of you can have the room to yourselves.”

“Dean ...” Sam wasn't able to articulate what it was about the offer that seemed lewd but there was something almost perverse in the way Dean said it.

“Listen, I'm not saying anything, I'm just going to find somewhere else to stay tonight.” He grinned in a way that suggested he'd have plenty to say tomorrow whether they did anything or not.

“So how long did you know it wasn't Lucifer?” Cas asked.

“Sam always knew.” Dean said off handed.

“I wasn't a hundred percent sure,” Sam said, “I was afraid it would be, but it was just a demon.”

“Then why did you go through with it? Why didn't you call Crowley on lying about it.”

“People were going to die. It didn't matter why, it didn't matter who was doing it. The demon needed to be stopped, and we didn't want Crowley to know we had his lie figured out yet.”

Dean stood up, when he finished eating and dropped a twenty on the table, “Hey, Sammy I need to talk to you before you go back to the room.”

Sam followed his brother out of the restaurant and back to the car, “Listen man, I almost forgot there's a auto shop a couple miles up the road that has a part I need for the car, can you go pick it up for me?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes seriously, do you think I take anything more serious than the car?”

“Dean, it can't wait till in the morning?”

“No, it could be gone by then.”

There was a heart beat where he was going to argue but there was a sincerity in his brother's face that screamed he was planning something. He could either argue it, or go along and do what Dean asked him, and just hope for the best. He closed his eyes and sighed knowing there was never a doubt what he would do.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Oh, just give them my name it's reserved.”

“Your real name or a fake name?”

“Don't be stupid.” Dean said without actually answering the question.

 

 

 


	38. Sastiel porn

Walking into the room Sam was pretty sure that he'd walked into the wrong place. The lights were off, but the room was bathed in the soft white glow of a handful of tealight candles. They were placed evenly across the top of dresser the tv was sitting on. The flicker of light reflected in the mirror on the other wall, casting dancing light back across the room.

“Cas?” He didn't to find his angel in the room, but Cas stepped out of the bathroom. For a second Sam was overwhelmed by it. He was wearing a plain t-shirt and a pair of soft pajama pants, but between the glow of the candles and the hopefulness on his face it took Sam's breath away.

“What is this?” Sam asked unable to look at the room with the way his eyes seemed to be stuck on water still clinging to Cas' neck from his shower.

“Dean suggested it.” He said flatly, “shows of romantic affection are apparently important to him.”

He gestured to the bed that was covered in a pile of something. Sam got a good look at it for the first time and realized that it was dvd cases.

“I couldn't decide which one you would like so I got all of them.”

“All of what?”

It might have been the lighting but he could have sworn Cas turned a shade or two pinker when he said, “There was a list of the top 25 movies about dogs.”

“You bought 25 movies.”

Cas looked away from him and there was just enough guilt on his face that Sam didn't press it.

“I thought that we could watch them all, and we can discuss them until I know which one you like best. Next time I should be able to pick easier.”

“You know watching all of these might take days.” Sam said.

Cas smile lit up brightly, “It might.” he agreed, “we can wait to watch them until we get home, or extend our stay.”

The idea of staying longer in the room didn't matter to him one way or another, most of his life had been spent in motel rooms. A few extra days really wouldn't change anything. But the idea of spending days curled up in his own bed with Cas, watching movies and actually having in depth intelligent conversation about them, was probably the most enticing thing he could think of.

“We can start watching them tonight and finish them at home.” he offered.

The offer seemed to please Cas. He grabbed one of the cases without actually looking at it and shoved it into Sam's hands, “I forgot something.” He said leaving Sam to open the dvd while he went to the mini fridge.

Cas put a plastic container of strawberries on the bedside table, it was joined by a couple other small bowls and a bottle of something wrapped in a towel.

“Are you planning on getting me drunk and taking advantage of me?” Sam asked.

Cas paled, “I would never do something like that to you...”

“Cas, it's okay, I was joking.” Sam said, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. “I know you wouldn't. It was just something to say.”

“Oh,” Cas paused for so long Sam thought the conversation was over before he said, “some people use humor to cope with traumatic experiences, making light of it as if though it doesn't affect them.”

It was easy to fall into a comfortable place on the bed, with Cas sitting close beside him. They didn't have wine glasses so they made do with the small Styrofoam coffee cups.

They shared the bowl between them. Sugar, whipped cream, and chocolate alternated between the bites, the sweetness was a decadence that Sam rarely indulged in. but the strawberries tasted sweeter when they were fed to him by Cas' fingertips. His tongue lazily traced the drop of red juice that had slipped down the between the v of his boyfriends fingers.

The sticky sweetness was almost as delightful as the soft content sigh Cas hadn't meant to make at the feel of Sam's tongue dancing over his fingers.

Fingertips found their way into his hair, rubbing and tugging gently at the strands until Sam found himself laying on his back with his head on his angel's lap.

“Stay there,” Cas growled playfully before balancing the bowl of strawberries on Sam's stomach. He trailed a sugar coated piece of fruit against Sam's lip for a fraction of a second.

When it was gone he caught Cas' wrist and pulled his hand back to his mouth to nip at the pad of his fingertip.

Want curled it's way through him, warm and intoxicating. The movie played on forgotten in the background when Sam sat up and carefully placed the bowl of berries on the bedside table before he shifted to face Cas,. “I want you.” He said softly, let the weight of the words darken them.

“Okay,” Cas breath was a rumbling gasp of noise. There was a long moment when neither of them moved, the words hanging between them in the air. It was an act of courage for Sam to reach for Cas. He grabbed his face between his hands and leaned forward closing the space between them. For a fraction of a second Cas didn't react at all, frozen in place while Sam coaxed him into a response. The hand that reached for him was warm and solid against his shoulder, not pushing him away nor pulling him closer.

When the kiss broke Sam could feel the gentle squeeze that was meant as reassurance, “are you sure?”

Cas asked cautiously, “don't do anything because you feel you have to, or you owe it or anything, is this what you want.”

He nodded, “yes, please stop asking.” The words came out a groan of mock exasperation, covering how glad he was to hear them.

Their shirts were stripped away slowly. Sam drank in the sight of toned muscle, it was almost strange how not strange it was. He let his fingertips explore the expanse of Cas' chest and stomach, dipping beneath the waist line of his pants but going no farther, before sliding back up his sides. He pressed forward his weight and hands guiding Cas back down onto the mattress.

Blue eyes that had seen incomprehensible things looked at him with equal parts reverence and hunger. Sam kissed him again a slow exploration of Cas' mouth. Drinking in the taste of him like he was afraid he'd never get to taste his lips again. He moved down to rake his teeth against the pulse in Cas' neck, biting just hard enough for him to feel it, and loving the warm taste of his skin against his lips. Cas moaned unexpectedly and arched into his lips. Sam couldn't stop the slight smile but he didn't back off, instead he bit down a little harder and wondered what Dean would say if he left a hickey on his boyfriend.

He restrained the urge to leave a mark on the perfect skin and let his lips trail farther down, pressing chaste kisses against his collar bones. He reached for Cas' pants without a thought, urging them over hips that were rolling toward him in hungry anticipation.

The plain white boxers were obscenely pressed around the outline of Cas cock. Sam reached for it without slowing down, his lips back on Cas' while he rubbed the hard line through the thin cotton. Desire coiled low in him and he ached for some kind of friction on his own. He rolled his hips down pressing against the side of Cas leg.

“We're going to need lube.” he whispered against slack lips.

Cas eyes cut to the table, before he said, “in there.”

It was hard to drag himself away, but he did. While he was up Sam stripped off his own pants and dug through the drawer until he found the bottle of lube. The plastic wrap still around the top was a pain in the ass to remove. But a few seconds later he was back on the bed. He pushed Cas' boxers down his legs before taking off his own.

He poured a generous amount of lube into his palm. With a sure hand he slicked Cas shaft before reaching for himself. It was an alien experience trying to find the right rhythm to stroke Cas with one hand and himself with the other. Cas was too overwhelmed by the experience to give him much help either way. His eyes were squeezed closed and his hips lifted up off the bed, arching slightly into each stroke, like he couldn't be still, but didn't know what he should do either.

His mind played through how they could do the act itself. As badly as he wanted to bury himself in his angel, he didn't think that Cas would be ready to handle that. It was a split second choice driven more by intuition than thought. He let go of both of their cocks and reached for the lube. Nerves almost made him drop it.

He felt Cas eyes on him while he prepped, it made him flush from something like embarrassment, he wanted to rush through it and just get it over with, but he knew if he did he'd regret it quickly. He forced himself to relax and do the job properly. Before adding more lube to Cas' cock.

“I'm going to ride you, okay?” He said, as if it weren't already obvious by what he'd just done.

Cas nodded, “please.” he pleaded.

Sam moved to straddle his waist, one hand wrapped around the base of the angel's cock, the other keeping him balanced above him. He rolled his hips and felt the tip pressing against him. When it felt like he was finally lined up right he pressed back slowly sinking down. It was almost too much, and as slow as he went it still felt far too quickly. He was stretched just enough to ache in a way that promised if he moved before he relaxed that ache would blossom into a burn.

If Sam's eyes weren't closed he might have noticed how still Cas had become sooner. He shifted slightly and heard the gasp from his angel.

“You alright?” Sam asked imagining that he was too heavy for the former angel.

“I'm good, I just forgot how to breath for a moment.” Cas smiled at him, his hands stroked lightly up Sam's thighs.

Sam smiled back and rolled his hips slightly, it was getting easier to move, discomfort already blossoming into something more pleasant.

He reached for Cas' hand and guided it to his cock wrapping both their hands around himself he groaned, then whispered, “Let me remind you.”

Cas answered with another gasping moan and arched into a slow, careful thrust.

 


	39. Chapter 39

Sam lay awake staring at shadows on the walls. Cas was lying beside him breathing slowly and deeply his eyes closed. The lines in his face had eased away. For once he didn't look troubled by the world they lived in. He watched the steady fall of his boyfriend's chest and smiled remembering the lilt to his voice when Cas had told him he'd forgotten how to breath. It was a disturbingly perfect moment for him.

Still sleep was elusive. He was waiting for the moment. That spark of ignition where all the good in his life invariably went up in flames and he was left choking on the smoke. The edges of his vision danced with flames that were drawn from his own imagination, memory or nightmare it was all the same.

He expected to feel regret, for a moment it's absence left a strange taste in his mouth. He let himself watch Cas and wonder why it was the former angel that gave him a moments peace.

It was a different kind of love. The tangle of emotions that he was trying to sort through didn't feel urgent, but it was interesting. Layers of history, and friendship, and companionship, and now he added wistfully sex. Had build into one of the most unique relationships he'd ever experienced.

Cas had patience bred of millennia of existence, and yet sometimes he seemed completely innocent of the degradation and horrors that he had to have witnessed in that time. Like the very experience of living through those moments hadn't tainted his existence the way it had Sam's in only a handful of years by comparison.

It felt like he was awake for hours replaying every moment trying to commit it to memory, while at the same time searching for some verification that it was real, or worse, proof that it wasn't. He was as sure as he could be though, so he filed away his fears for later. Let himself live in the moment, even while waiting for the fire to consume him.

Cas slept peacefully beside him. If Cas could sleep after all he'd been through and all he'd seen. Sam tried to let himself be more like Cas, tried to find the place where he could get just enough peace from the horrors in his own past to finally rest.

 


	40. Chapter 40

The impala rolled into the bunker's garage quietly. It was clear before they were all the way in the building that something was wrong. Foreboding sat heavily in the pit of Sam's stomach. Dean had turned off the radio, the twisted expression on his face showing his own discomfort. He gestured to the glove box. Sam pulled out the gun that was stashed there.

“What's going on?” Cas asked from the back seat.

“Something's up.” Dean answered, then put his finger over his lips.

Sam nodded and they parked the car as carefully as they could, killing the engine. If there were someone in the bunker they most likely would have already heart her. Still they didn't slam the doors.

Slipping into the halls they split along the walls, and crept their way toward the center of the bunker. Ears and eyes open for some sign of an imminent attack.

There was movement in the library, after an exchanged look with Dean they slipped through the door with their guns up, side by side, ready to take out whatever had dared to intrude in their home.

Everything was wrong.

There was a half a dozen people in the room, there were boxes piled on the tables, wires and monitors covered every available inch. A woman with a clip board was standing in front of one of the shelves examining the swords that were displayed there.

“What the hell.” Dean asked, before he could stop himself, for a fraction of a second the gun lowered before he lifted it back up, “Anyone want to tell me what the hell you're doing here.” Dean said growling.

Sam tensed for a fight, everywhere there were boxes. Some were open with their packing peanut guts spilling out onto the floor. Other boxes were still taped closed, labels on them had the Men of Letters symbol. He held firm next to his brother.

“I wondered when you'd be arriving,” a familiar voice broke through the quiet bustle, the majority of the people paid no attention to them, sat on their tasks they managed to ignore the two large men with guns pointed at them.

“You can of course put those away, unless you're planning on shooting your staff on their first day of the job.”

“Come again?” Dean growled, but the gun was lowered back into his waist band. “I thought we'd be working together, out there, not that you'd invade our house, how did you even find us?”

“You mean our house, this is a men of letters bunker after all, you were never hidden from us.”

“Well that's comforting,” Sam muttered before he could stop himself.

He felt Cas next to him, he didn't have to look at him to see the way he had already assessed the threat in the room.

“Come now, you didn't really think that you were hidden from us did you?” Ketch asked smiling.

Dean stumbled through an answer.

“Well, now that was articulate, there are introductions to be made, if you are ready to get to work.” They were joined by a second man, his hand was held out awkwardly in front of him, “Mick Davies, I'll be handling the reports back to the British chapter, and running our operatives here in the states under your supervision of course.”

“I don't care.” Dean growled.

Sam shook his hand, “It's nice to meet you,” he said forcing himself to be polite and introduce himself.

He tried to keep from remembering the woman in her suit, with her manicured nails and clip board, injecting toxic magic into his blood. He closed his eyes.

“What, um,” he cleared his throat trying to force himself to be the one in charge, exactly what they had agreed to, “what are you working on?”

“Right now, cataloging, and updating.” Mick said, “almost everything in this chapter is obsolete and outdated by half a century.” He sighed, “we haven't even begun to check the other branches, but we will leave them for now until we recruit enough hunters, and like minded individuals to run them at capacity that's more work than reward. Though cataloging their contents as well might not be a terrible idea.”

“Other branches?” Dean asked.

“There are several different branches, New York, Chicago, Detroit...”

“So why is this one here, in the middle of no where?” Cas asked, “If the others are all located in larger cities.”

“Good question,” Mick said, “This is the central hub, the midpoint of the country, and it is in close proximity to an area of interest, that at one point the men of letters felt compelled to monitor.”

“Let me guess.” Dean said, “Stull Cemetery?”

“How did you know that?” Ketch asked, a look of suspicion across his face.

“Just a hunch.” Dean answered, daring him to question his answer.

“I take it you've had an encounter with the kind of forces that seem drawn to the place.”

“You could say that.” Sam agreed tensely.

“Sam,” Cas whispered his name offering quiet support.

Sam smiled to reassure Cas that he was okay and took a step farther into the room. It was weird the mix of technology that was being brought in that was clearly new and as high tech as they could have gotten it, and the books and weapons, some of which was older than their grandparents.

“Well, while you do that, I've got a mission, there's a werewolf that needs put down.” Ketch said smiling. “Would you like to join me?” He directed the question to Dean, “Leave these two to their toys.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” Dean said.

“Suit yourself,” Ketch smiled, “Mr. Davies, I will update you when I arrive.”

“Thank you Mr. Ketch.” Mick said and turned back to Sam, “If you'd like we can go through and I can give you a run down of what we're doing to improve the functionality of this location.”

“That'd be great,” Sam said, though what he wanted more than anything was to go to his room and lock the door, and not come out until he was certain the British invasion was nothing more than a bad dream.

 


	41. Chapter 41

“What are you doing?” Sam burst out when he saw two men struggling under the weight of the ancient computer.

“Upgrading.” Mick said, “Can't really run a state of the art computer network on seventy year old equipment.”

“That computer is priceless.”

“And obsolete,” he countered. “Don't worry, we'll put it somewhere safe, it's not like you're actually using it for anything other than collecting dust.”

“The bunker's security systems run through it,” Sam explained, not realizing until that moment how much the system had given him comfort.

“We rerouted the alarms through the new system, added a few precautionary measures that we didn't have when this was set up, like, well everything really, this branch has never been safe than it is now.”

The argument was lost before it began and Sam accepted it as gracefully as he could. “Just be careful with it.”

“Of course.” Mick said his tone soothing, “we're only doing the necessary updates.”

Sam nodded, turned, and walked out of the room, unwilling to watch them gutting his home. It didn't matter where he went there were people he didn't know and didn't trust touching things they had no right to even know about. It felt like a violation but he bit his tongue to keep from screaming at them to get out. He found his brother standing in the kitchen his robe tied loosely around his waist and a cup of coffee in one hand.

“You're not touching my coffee.” Dean said to someone just out of his brother's sight.

Sam walked through the door way to see more of the British suits standing in the industrial kitchen. “Do you have any idea what they're doing?' Sam asked his brother before he had realized he was there.

“Inventory or something boring and bureaucratic like that.”

“They're gutting the place.” He bit out, “There is so much history and they're just carrying it out like it's trash day or some shit.”

Dean shrugged, “I got a call from Garth last night.”

“And?”

Dean shook his head, eyeing the two going through the shelves suspiciously. He started to walk out the door with his coffee cup, then stopped so abruptly that Sam almost ran directly into his back. He grabbed the handle of the coffee pot and carried the entire pot out of the room with him. It in one hand and the coffee cup in the other.

When they were in the garage he refilled his cup and put the pot on the trunk of the car. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out his phone. The message was brief. A sound that was little more than a muffled pop.

“Was that a gunshot?”

“Sure as hell sounded like one to me.” Dean said.

'Did you call him back?”

“No Sam, I thought I'd sleep on it. Of course I called him back, about a hundred times, I haven't gotten an answer, and I made some calls. No one else has heard from him either.” They both glanced toward the door to the rest of the bunker, “Ketch said he was hunting a werewolf.”

“I know.”

“You don't think.”

Dean shrugged, “I should have gone with him.” Sam saw the concern that he was doing his best to hide, “if it was Ketch there's going to be hell to pay.”

“He could be okay Dean. It could have been anything, he could have dropped his phone and it broke and that was the sound.”

“It could be, but if it's not? What are we going to do about it?”

“I don't know.” Sam said hesitantly, running through possible scenarios of them confronting Mick, of how they would deal with it if they were inadvertently the reason they found Garth. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, get Cas meet me back here in an hour.”

“What are you going to do?” Sam asked.

“Finish my coffee and see if I can find out where Ketch went yesterday.” Dean had already drained the cup and was filling it again.

“Yeah,” Sam said, “are you going to be okay? I mean if...”

“If they got Garth?” Dean asked flatly, “No, I really won't.”

Sam nodded in agreement.

“One hour,” Dean reminded him unnecessarily.

 


	42. Chapter 42

The impala rolled up to the front of the farm. The porch light was a welcoming glow against the dark landscape. Sam still held out hope that Garth would open the door smiling when they knocked. The realist in him slipped his Taurus into the waist ban of his jeans.

Dean met his eyes and they both braced themselves against whatever they would find on the other side of the door. Sam spared a quick look at Cas before nodding for Dean to knock. Everything stood silent around them.

The lack of movement beyond the door didn't bode well for them finding their friend safely.

“Maybe they didn't hear it,” Cas suggested.

“Maybe,” Dean agreed twisting the door knob. It opened to them.

The inside of the house was dim, a couple lamps in the corners cast muted yellow light over the living room, but the rest of the house was swallowed by shadows.

Sam could almost make out movement, spots where the darkness was textured, more gray than solid black. He aimed his gun at where he thought something might be and willed his eyes to adjust quickly. It didn't matter, with a muffled click the shadows disappeared. Sam glanced over his shoulder to see Cs with his hand still on the switch.

“Did we get the wrong house?” He asked looking at a green mesh playpen shoved against a wall.

Dean picked up a picture frame, “it's the right place.” he handed it over and Sam felt an overwhelming sense of vertigo. It was Garth, and Bess, and a mass of blue fluff surrounding a cherubic face.

“Oh god,” Sam whispered, imagining Garth and his wife and baby fending off an attack. If he hadn't told them about the baby it meant he must have been completely desperate to make the call to dean.

The picture tumbled from his numb finger tips. He tensed for the sound of breaking glass, but it landed face down on the carpet without a sound.

“Come on.” Dean lifted his gun and started moving through the house checking the rooms, Sam followed pushing every thought but finding their friend out of his mind.

The house was small and held the smell of domestic living. Cleaners candles, and the under lying smell of something floral and unfamiliar.

The house struck Sam as the kind of place that should have been safe.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked.

Sam nodded the words “I'm fine” on the tip of his tongue. They wouldn't come. Garth was their friend, if something had happened to him and his family because of the Brits he'd never forgive himself.

Dean shoved open a bedroom door.

Faintly Sam heard a thump on the other side of the room followed by a soft whimper that might have been the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

He trusted Dean to watch his back but nothing, not even self-preservation was going to slow him down. He threw the closet door open to see a red faced Bess cowering in the corner, her body between her baby and Sam.

“Hey, it's okay, it's us.” He comforted her dropping down to the floor and reaching out to her.

“S-sam?” Her voice hitched and she was moving toward him.

“Where's Garth?” Dean asked gruffly.

“I don't know.” She moaned, “He's just gone.”

“What happened?” Dean asked her.

“Someone came in, and they took him,” she closed her eyes and a broken sound tore from him, “I couldn't stop them.”

“How did you get away?”

“I didn't,” She pulled her baby closer to her, “they weren't interested in me. They just wanted him.” whatever else she said dissolved into breathless hysterical sobs.

“We're going to find him,” Sam reassured her holding her trembling body loosely afraid of accidentally hurting her.

“It's too late,” she managed to choke out between sobs, “they're all dead. The packs, something is hunting them, we're being wiped out.” She moved so fast that Sam was knocked backwards, “I have to get out of here before they come back for us.” She started pulling hangers off the rack with one hand while the other clutched her baby closely, “shh, it's gonna be okay, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you.” she whispered frantically.

“Let me take him,” Dean said stepping around Sam to put one hand on the infant, “I'm good with kids, and you're going to need both hands for that.”

“Don't hurt him, he's just a baby.”

“Why would I hurt him?”

“That's what you do.” she accused, “that's all hunters ever do.”

“We're your friends.” Dean reminded her, “Garth is our friend.”

She gave in at that and her grip on the child eased enough for Dean to ease him from her arms, “we'll take you wherever you need to go.”

 


	43. Chapter 43

“Where do we start?” Bess asked.

“We start with you telling us everything that you can think of. Anywhere he might have gone, any friends he might have called if he was in trouble, anyone that was asking questions, anything you can think of,” Dean said. “We'll do our job.”

“Your job? You kill monsters.” She accused, “you killed my family.”

“To be fair, they were trying to kill us, and you, and everyone.” Dean argued, “seriously, I thought we were past this.”

She sat sullen and quiet.

“You don't believe we want to help you?” Sam asked, “but we came because Garth called us, he got cut off before he could say anything, that doesn't bode well for us. Or him. Garth has dropped off our radar before.”

“When he became a werewolf for instance.” Dean supplied helpfully.

“Right, what we're saying is, there's a chance that he's okay, just hiding somewhere,” Sam tried to put more hope in it than he felt.

“If that's true, then why wouldn't he contact us? We're his family.” She asked her voice raising shrilly.

“If he's trying to protect you, he may cut contact,” Dean sipped on a coffee cup and let her mull over what he'd said. She needed time to think, to figure out if she believed they were going to help her or not.

“Most of Garth's friends were locals, but none of them knew what he was, so if he had a problem, and it was with hunters, or whatever is taking out the wolf packs, chances are he wouldn't have called any of them. He would have called you, unless he had a reason to believe that you were working with the monsters that are doing this.”

He wouldn't have been wrong. Sam didn't say anything, but it had been hanging between them since they found out Garth was missing, there was a chance they were involved, whether or not they had realized it at the time. If Garth was the wolf that Ketch had said he was hunting, then they were directly responsible because they hadn't gone with him. If he'd been there, then he could have stopped whatever happened to Garth.

“I'm going to get some air,” Sam said, standing to head for the nearest exit.

He didn't have to look to know that Cas was following him out the door. He let it close behind him anyways and slipped around the corner of the building. He leaned against the wall and tried to think of ways they could find Garth if she wouldn't cooperate, or worse, if she really didn't know anything.

“Sam?”

“Hey, Cas.” Sam said trying to smile, “I'm fine.”

He didn't answer, but disbelief marred his face.

“I just keep thinking, that if they were trying to get information out of Garth, where would they take him? I mean if they were doing to him, what they did to me?” his voice trailed off, still he could feel the dullest ache in wounds that had only recently healed over. The scars were still fresh, both in his mind and on his body. It didn't make it any easier that the woman was dead. If she wasn't just an isolated extremist in the group then they were in way over their heads.

“When you were taken, they were just moving operations here, there wasn't a base set up. So why that location?” Cas asked, “even if she was operating outside of her orders, she was trained by the same people as ketch, so perhaps they have a similar habit.”

“That's smart.”

“Well, I am highly trained in strategic planning.”

Sam smiled. “it doesn't give us much to go on. They'd need somewhere they could gaurantee no one would go, somewhere that was warded, far enough from neighbors that screaming wouldn't be an issue, either electricity or a generator, cell reception for them to keep in contact.”

almost as if on cue is phone rang.

“It's Mick.” He said. “I'm not sure I can deal with this.”

“Answer it.” Cas said, “see if you can get information from him.”

“Hello,” Sam tried to sound as casual as he could.

“Sam, glad I caught you, where did you and your brother run off to?”

“found a haunting. Pretty much a milk run.”

“So you're not too busy then,”

“Not at the minute, hanging outside a diner, trying to figure out where a body might be buried.”

“When you are finished with the case, I will want a full report.” Mick said, “for our records of course.”

“Of course,” Sam said smiling, “we were just discussing possibly joining up with Ketch if he's still hunting werewolves, do you know where he is?”

“I wouldn't worry about that, he's caught the wolf and is interrogating it now, if it is part of a larger pack, we'll know soon.”

“oh, well, that's good.” Sam said hoping that Mick couldn't hear the stress in his voice. “I guess we'll head back home when we're done here then.”

“Actually, don't. I have a case for you, when you're done. I'll send you the details.” Sam could hear the smile in his voice, “you boys keep up the good work.” The line went dead.

He closed his eyes, and fought the urge to bang his head against the wall behind him, “We're so fucking stupid.”

 


	44. Chapter 44

Sam ran back into the diner, Dean looked up alarmed. “You got something?”

“Sam says we're fucking stupid.” Cas supplied helpfully, “He hasn't told me why yet.”

“I got a call from Mick, he has a job for us.”

“Okay, and?”

“And, if they need somewhere to take a prisoner, that's out of the way, that has all the tools and supplies they'll need, that no one knows where is, that has all the comforts of home, where could they possibly find that?”

Dean mulled over it, “I'm not following.”

“Dean, mick told me not to come back to the bunker, because they have a job for us. They're trying to keep us out of the bunker.”

“They'd have to be the dumbest jackasses in history to kidnap our friend and take him back to our bunker. That's stupid as a superpower.”

“I mean it's possible right?”

“Not likely.” He stood up, “but you know, They seem pretty fucking stupid to me, so what the hell, lets see if we have Garth chained up in our dungeon.”

“Are you serious?” Bess asked, for a second Sam had forgotten she was there, “you think he's at your place.”

“No, I don't think that. I think it's the dumbest idea I've ever heard,” Dean said, “Sam thinks it, and that's good enough for me.”

“I'm going with you.” Bess followed him, “if my husband is there I need to go with you.”

“Congratulations you just took the prize for stupid ideas, you're going to stay somewhere safe.”

“He's my husband.” She hissed between her teeth, “you're not leaving me out of this.”

“You realize that if we let anything happen to you, your husband will never forgive us. So no, you're not going with us, we're going to set you up in a nice warded safe house, far from any one that might kill you.”

“Dean,” Sam said trying to get him to reign in his attitude. It didn't matter, Dean ignored him.

Dean dropped the money for their meal on the table and lead the way to the car. The drive to the safe house was to the sound of Metallica. Dean drove like he always did, for the love of it. Like there wasn't potentially something horrible at the end of the road.

Sam closed his eyes and let the familiar rumble of baby's engine lull him into something closer to sleep, he was running through plans in the back of his mind, trying to figure out how they would handle it if their fears were true, and some part of him wondered how he'd look his friend in the eye if it were true.

Bess was left in one of Bobby's cabins with enough supplies to last a couple weeks, and a burner phone for emergencies. “Sorry there's no internet.” Dean commented, “but if some psychopath is hunting for you, maybe updating your Facebook isn't a good idea.”

“Dean, bring my husband back to me.” She pleaded.

“Yes ma'am.” he said, with more kindness than he'd shown since they found her, “I'll do everything I can,” he's eyes lingered on the infant in her arms. Dean thought that he was hiding how much he had wanted that kind of normalcy. That even though he'd long since given up on it, was was still a part of him to long for a family he thought he could never have.

Settled back into the car, Sam turned the radio down, “so Garth has a kid.”

“He's pretty cute for a werewolf.” He closed his eyes, “how does that work? I mean do they turn when they're that little? Are they like a puppy while they're babies? I mean has anyone ever actually figured that out. And if they do, do their parent's have to chain themselves and their baby up? Or do they get a babysitter?”

“You could ask.” Cas suggested helpfully, “it is an interesting question.”

“I'm sure they have it under control.” Sam said, though it was something that he was going to look into as soon as things calmed down. Dean was talking to fill the silence, to distract from how badly things could be about to go, but they were good questions, if not immediately important, someday they might be.

“We'll see,” Dean agreed, “He should have called us, or sent like a text or something, I mean your friend having a baby is kind of a big deal.”

“I don't know Dean? I'm sure he had a reason.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, reaching for the radio to drown out any more conversation. It was their normal, and Sam wasn't opposed to it, he had a lot on his mind already.

“I'm sure he's fine,” Cas whispered leaning closer, “are you okay?”

Sam nodded, for a few minutes not actually thinking about the reasons he might not be. It was easier to work then to wallow in his own past.

He did take a second to take inventory, he was worried, his long over abused body ached, but that was something he expected. It was the kind of ache he already knew would never get better, so he was learning to ignore it, there was a lot of static still in his mind, things that his attention caught on that were slivers of light or shadows that didn't quite look like they were part of the world, but it was like a glare on the surface of the world. He just ignored it, knew it, like the residual pain, was just part of him now, something he had to adjust to and keep going, thinking about it would never fix it. And there was no reason to bother Dean or Cas with it.

It was better to just have visions of shifting colors than actual visions of horrors flitting through his mind on some self destructive whim.

Dean turned down the radio, “Have you noticed there have been a lot of infants in our lives lately?”

“I hadn't really thought about it.” Sam said, the change in conversation catching him off guard.

“I was just thinking about it, it's weird right? I think I've seen more kids in the past couple months than I have in years.”

“Blue Car syndrome” Sam said, “when you get a blue car, you start noticing them everywhere. It's not that there's more of them, it's that you weren't paying attention before.”

“That's not a real thing.” Dean argued, “and besides, I don't have a kid, so it doesn't work.”

“Mom, Dean, you're not seeing babies everywhere, you're seeing mother's everywhere.”

“Why is this suddenly about mom?”

Sam shrugged, “I don't know, when was the last time you talked her?”

“Not long ago.” Dean answered noncommittally.

Sam didn't follow with any of the questions he would normally have asked if Dean wasn't going to tell him there wasn't much he could do to force the issue.

 


	45. Chapter 45

The bunker at one time had felt like a promise. If not home, than at least safety. Time and time again it had proven fallible. Sam found himself wondering how it was possible he kept letting himself fall into the same false hope. How he kept looking for something that would keep him safe from the life he lived.

There was no where safe, it was the tragic truth of their lives. The security they tried to give others would always be out of their reach. It's not that it bothered him, it was more something that he had accepted, and was mulling over. Turning it through his mind figuring out how to put the newest invasion, the newest wrong choice, in a place that it made sense. Figuring out how it fit with the rest of the stones the universe had cast their direction.

When they were parked, all the words they could think of had been said. There was only one thing left to do. The only way to get through what was to come, would be to hit it straight on.

Determination coursed warring with the apprehension. It was a straight shot to the dungeon. They weren't going to bother stopping to bullshit, or to give them any warning they were coming. They weren't going to have time to hide the depth of their betrayal.

No one stopped them, the halls seemed deserted, though that could have been for any reason. Every footfall was an echo, loud and piercing to Sam's ears. He expected someone to try to stop them, someone to ask when they got back, something.

It was disappointing how easy it was. Dean shoved the door open pulling his gun out as he went. Sam followed him, ready for whatever he found on the other side of the door. The room smelled like scorched hair and singed flesh. It was a sickeningly familiar smell.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean said, the gun put up as quickly as it had been drawn. He moved around the table to the unconscious figure slumped over it. His fingertips searched out his neck, Sam turned to watch the door. His ears strained for the sound of feet rushing toward them. The silence was almost like static. He couldn't tell if it really was that dead still within the bunker, or if he was just not listening hard enough.

“Is he alive?” Cas asked softly.

“Yeah,” Dean said, Sam felt the echo of the relief in his voice, “come on, we've got to move him, now.”

“We've got a problem,” Dean said a few seconds later.

“You mean another one?” Cas asked.

“I don't have a key for these.” Sam turned to see the silver cuffs that were holding him were almost rust colored from the blood drying on them. It wasn't one of the sets that they had seen before. “Looks like they got new equipment.”

It really wasn't that big of a problem, “I'll get the bolt cutters from the car.” He said, “Cas, take point.”

Dean threw him the keys. Sam caught them in one hand sliding them into his front pack with one hand while he slipped his gun, back in the waist band of his jeans with the other, then jogged down the halls. The bunker felt different. Like the number of people that were beneath it's roof had fundamentally altered it in some way. It was no longer their haven. Now it was just another place they needed to escape.

“Sam,” Mick stepped out of a doorway and he came up short, trying not to run into him.

“Sorry,” Sam said, “didn't see you there.”

“When did you get back.”

“Just now,” Sam said.

Mick looked back the direction that he came from, “what's going on?”

“I forgot something in the car.” Sam said, “My laptop, I'm lost without it.” He forced a fake smile and glanced into the room that Mick had just walked out of. It appeared empty. He weighted the thought for a half a second, his hand trailing back over the butt of his pistol.

“How did the hunt go?” He asked, “did you get it all resolved.”

“We found the body, it was in the last place we thought to look.”

“Well, I'd worry more if you'd kept looking after you found it.” He returned the smile, “I've got that case ready for you if you've got a minute.”

“Not right now,” Sam said, and debated whether or not he should just pull the gun, and put an end to the charade.

Mick nodded, “when you're ready then.”

It was a work of will not to run the rest of the way to the car. He didn't know what excuse he'd give if he was stopped on the way back to the dungeon with the bolt cutter's in hand. It took too long to get into the car, every noise real and imagined set him on edge.

He wasn't stopped again on the way back, and threw the cutters to Dean as soon as he was close enough. The sound of the chains snapping made him flinch. The metal slithered onto the floor loud and damning.

They were moving with Garth unconscious between them, Cas kept in front of them. Moving like he could stop anything that came at them by the sheer force of his will. At one time he could have.

Salvation was in sight, baby's gleaming curves promising home and safety, when the sound of a gun cocking stopped them in their tracks.

“Care to explain yourselves?” Ketch asked quietly stepping between them and the car, a shot gun held leveled dead center between them.

 


End file.
